At times I trip out of my spin
And climb to the top tick-tock
I am thinking of fallen decades
And I know somewhere joy stopped.
The chimes stop for a midnight pause
A snug rest from the drum-beaten throbs
Twelve o’clock and I go ahead
Joy is somewhere but now it seems dead.
My mind catches peaks of the past
I close my wet eyes with regret
Pull a blanket over mistakes
And wonder why joy was lost.
The kitten curls up to be near
My dog snuggles close to this babe
They give warmth to the frosty night
And the three of us drowse on the bed.
So I smile and know it is true
That petals of joy do revive --
A warmth that is soft as the breeze
When it comes from the tap of a touch.
By Jeannette Saylor