...hope...
It will be a river
my small voice in you
which now trails weakly like a
stream among boulders
it will burn bright
the light which glows so strong,
so long, then flickers
wildly, blows unsteadily.
Clowns now, you will be dancers
at my throne. Do you not see it,
all fears gone
you will wear glory like a gown.
For now be foolish, clumsy,
stumble, fall.
All shall be well
and being unwhole is part of travelling.
Let me hear your heart sing
be my clown
and it will be a river
my small truth in you.
- Jill Harris