Seasons
Understanding is a creative act
And like all such things I suppose
Only comes of its own volition
Seeming quite arbitrary and
Wholly independent of one’s self.
I would venture to say
It is something that happens to us
For recently I too have fallen prey
To an understanding that I have managed to
Eluded for an entire lifetime.
Anger gives way slowly and
Ever so reluctantly as hard feelings
And old hurts soften somewhat
And jagged edges are worn smooth
Like rocks along the river.
And forgiveness forms
Like the first warm day in February
That melts the last of winter ice
On the lake and thaws the frozen earth
Along its shore.
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