the paint doesn’t come.
the words won’t visit.
the colors remain muted dull.
the light wont seem to come on.
these days I have learned
I only require the scrubbing of my own floors-
the most mundane of daily chores-
to find grace.
the paint doesn’t come.
the words won’t visit.
the colors remain muted dull.
the light wont seem to come on.
these days I have learned
I only require the scrubbing of my own floors-
the most mundane of daily chores-
to find grace.