Another two inches of snow
and you have places to go.
It is not enough to stop you,
but enough perhaps, that you slide a bit
before you hit the roads.
They at least, are well-plowed.
You woke in the morning
in need of medicine,
your dark sores of the spirit too evident.
Just a bit, but desperately in need
of a soft word. A gentle hug, enough
to set you on the road well trod,
You sigh. A deep sigh.
It is morning in the apothecary shop
with your choice of snake oils,
when in truth the medicine you need
you carry in your own pocket,
memory and mind of the softest touch
of someone, anyone, everyone who loves you.
About this poem.
We are often more loved than we feel. It is good to know this.