sometimes,
the watery
winter
sun
calls my name,
gently,
from behind the clouds,
caressing
my face
with his tendrils of
hope.
but i turn my back.
not now, i say,
can’t you see
that i am hiding
from the light.
but he rubs solace
into my fears
anyway.
— friend.
© Liezel Graham 2018.
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