Somewhere, somehow, something happens,
Seemingly malignant, seemingly blighted,
And you are absolutely unaware until that happens,
And you berate yourself for being short-sighted.
You think all is lost, un-recoverable, all is past,
You want to believe it's good, hoping against hope,
But think deep down, fate's played a trick fast.
But, for the proverbial straw, you still grope.
All it requires is a gust of wind, blowing,
All in its path, rubble, leaves, seeds including,
All the while make you think of the misgiving.
Wiping away the gloom and the condescending pity,
Willing seed, sprouting, growing, flowering beauty,
Whole you are made, in that moment of serendipity.
©enoshcp
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