...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