Oh, but do
Do delight in home
And wrap a tattered blanket
Over tense shoulders
And run the loose threads
Through your fingers
Remembering the picnic
Blanket caught in a bramble.
The way the trees caught the laughter
And sent it skyward with uplifted boughs.
But there’s the teapot whistling
And in every book is a door
To worlds unmasked, undistanced
Bake that bread that your hands know
Strike light to wick and let
Softer colors throw back the shadows
Do delight, find light, fight.