Spirit’s Spark: Stories and Musings in Poems


Milly White

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The Sun seemed precariously balanced
on a fragile strip of land that is Falmouth.
It waited, as if not wanting to bid “goodnight”
to the surrounding pink and blue and purple
wisps of clouds it created with the Sky.

Yet it tipped slowly, slowly backward into the depths
of the Sound, splashing colors into the heavens
before it disappeared.

I stood transfixed that cold December evening,
wishing I could shout out my feelings
into a poem,
for that was what had been my way
many times for at least a year now.

My wish was granted, though not as a shout,
but as a silent sigh of understanding,
as the colors blended in the sky and in the water
and granted me peace.