Emily said it is the thing with feathers,
a bird in the soul
perpetually singing melodies
which invoke the will.

It is the empty bowl
which in faith is filled,
and not to the brim,
but to overflowing.

It is like a cork,
sometimes overwhelmed
by tyrannical waves
but never down for long.

It’s a salubrious balm.
When grief breaks the heart into tiny pieces,
it does what the king’s horses and men cannot.

It is the unreachable star,
always there — guiding, guarding —
but its presence is more keenly felt
in the darkness of night.

It is the breath to our souls
and the foreshadowing of things yet seen.

 

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DAY FOUR:   Write a poem with a secret, an enigma – in other words, a poem with a word or idea or line that it isn’t expressed directly.

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