In a melancholy child, through wisdom,
a spirit grew.
She was destined to live in a lowly world.
She was a victim in a silly way.
Arising each night to the same scene,
she would pray for a different way.
Above what she knew, was a cloud that had light,
deep within where it was hiding all along.
One day she reached up, in the center of her pain.
Those were the moments of clarity she needed.
Now she wipes the mist from the air.
The light is a stream of happiness that she will never let go of.
Copyright 01-13-2009 ©® Sarah Sisson
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem