My poem

Life is so precious. 

Hang on with all your might, to the jars with fireflies inside. 

To the constellations in the skies. 

To tassels made of gold. 

To rosy cheeked cherubs. 

To the memories of old. 

To the creeks where silver horses drink their fill of water. 

To the azure skies and majestic clouds of home. 

Don’t despair, life holds promises never broken. 

Hope rises in your heart unbidden, never spoken. 

Beauty may be skin deep, yet it exists or existed. 

Pictures, yellowed with age, crinkled at the edges, yet they tell a story. 

Your story, my story, his story, her story. 

Framed in frames of gilt with etched spring flowers. 

Bunches of lilacs, roses, jasmine, the hours. 

Pain too is a part of life. You cannot escape it. 

Breath and sinew and muscles ever contracted, uplifted. 

Without knowing where you’re going, you must go. 

Never leave the road, not for stones or the dust that arose. 

Life, it is precious. How can you not know that? 

Hang on to it, with strong hands and take firm steps. 

Hope is your mantra, happiness a sigh. 

Love, the destination, peace ever up high. 

Trees, your soldiers, they will stand tall and strong. 

Stars a twinkling, streams with sweet, clear water, gurgling by. 

How could you forsake all these? Think of the gifts you’ve been given! 

The menageries, the mansions, with bowers, your children, yes, you’ve striven. 

Hang on, like the chrysalis inside its cocoon, the one that makes its appearance as the gossamer winged butterfly. 

Belief, hope, love, they’re passed on forever, they never die.