Wind's Promised Grace
The wind is an easel of darkened hue
Under hanging clouds, my breath meets the sea
Where tears on night’s air linger to review
This pain once needled by love’s trickery.
Like a wing that rises on one blessed flight
Across the shores of hope trilling a dream,
Its fragrant air hums gently to rewrite
The end of sorrow wiped by a moonbeam.
And zephyr flings its stars , its promised grace
In hymnal joy for my essence, now whole;
Like a child of strength this gift I embrace
As tears become holy drops that console.
When life is pierced by rainstorms that invade
I think of wind chimes as my serenade.
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Janice Thompson's Pen A Sonnet On It
Submitted 5/27/2016
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2015
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