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Gift of Golden Thread

Thin thread of warmth, sun's rays slip through the clouds;
the roiling mass resists the forward way
smog from yesterday in unfolding shrouds;
strands of gold blend in the fabric of the day.

Gone, the panorama of the stars,
the moon that shared its friendly glowing light,
the atmosphere turned stormy; fear was ours,
as thunder beat the meter of dark night.

It is then that hope is challenged, and trust,
the violence of the world crowds on our heart.hint of malevolence in every gust,
our surroundings in early hours impart.

If, then, the violence brewing in the air,
can touch our thoughts with a grim point of view,
could it be, though unchanged surroundings are,
with brightening of the air, our hopes renew.

The threads of warmth that enter in life's plans,
despite conflicts without, disputes within,
strands of gold woven in the day's short span,
promptings to arise, and try begin.

©02/03/2015 Carol Welch
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