curls like lace
or a lock of my daughter's hair
on the wooden dock,
its graceful curves appealing
if unkempt, a bit disorganized;
imperfection at its most charming.
We, too, in our natural state,
unmasked and unarranged,
having fallen as we were tossed,
can bless the eyes and hearts
of those whose eyes -- or lives--
touch upon this grace.
No comments:
Post a Comment