Joy

A Poem from Carol Stuart

Devils are always running around making deals, and the air seems as empty as it is heavy. What now? Everything is bigger than me.

Then, the light breaks through those bars, filtering through that cage of reason I call home.

This one is a poem from Carol, of Appalachian Word of the Week renown.

Thanks for the reminder, Carol.

Joy

When the trees

Whisper softly

To the stars

And the grasses

Creep together

To tuck in for sleep

Earth’s drowsy floor

The greatest joy of all

Is knowing

Of tomorrow’s rebirth.

– Carol Stuart