Wood eventually dries, crumbles, splits
and releases the nail.
Sellotape, exhausted, curls up and
falls off the paper.
Silt shifts and rocks roll down the river,
night gloom is slashed by dawn
and flees. Rain dries.
Midnight hungry babies will eventually
be teenagers that won’t get out of bed.
Skin will sag.
People will leave.
People will arrive.
Blossom will erupt in spring.
Problems will be solved or,
after long enough, they will cease to matter.
You will find a way to carry your grief,
your scarred heart will heal.
Snowflakes will melt on your coat
and vanish, like wishes.
Pic: 📷 Trudie Smith Photography