We do what we can
in the aftermath of tears,
in the relentless beauty of days
and the work that is too much for us

We will go home again
tired to the bone, and weathered,
but also saturated in song —
tree song and cricket song
and the creaking flap of raven flight

We will return, as we have
so many times. We’ll take up
the work we couldn’t finish.
We’ll struggle through the cold
of the long edges of days
and be graced by their brilliance,
and learn the meaning of work,
perhaps. And the meaning of praise.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 24, 2018