Classic Poem

Though now you are bereft and ways seem black,
— With emptiness and gloom on every hand;
Someday Time's healing touch will lead you back,
— And gradually your heart will understand
That what you bore must come to one and all,
— And Peace, the clean white flower born of pain,
Will slowly, surely, rise from sorrow's pall,
— And happiness will come to you again.

Though now you are bereft and ways seem black,
— With emptiness and gloom on every hand;
Someday Time's healing touch will lead you back,
— And gradually your heart will understand
That what you bore must come to one and all,
— And Peace, the clean white flower born of pain,
Will slowly, surely, rise from sorrow's pall,
— And happiness will come to you again.