The Falling of the Shoulders

And like the falling of the shoulders,

And like the demise of one’s spirit,

And like the dropping of dead leaves from a tree.

And like the sudden overtaking of the night,

Springing forth with no moon as her knight,

And like the weeping of a widow in despair,

My shoulders fall.

But like the gentle hand of a friend on my lap,

But like new music penetrating and purifying my soul,

My shoulders ascend,

Ever so slightly.

Indeed, like the awe that rises,

From the view of a captivating waterfall,

And like the peace that cleanses;

Like the warmth that emanates,

From the rays of the rising morning sun,

My shoulders rise.

Up again,

And down again,

And up again,

And down again.

But up again,

This time no vain,

Despite the pain,

It’s up again.

Relentless I’ll be,

And gentle, I must be.

Hope will be my acquaintance,

And slowly my counterpart,

And even more, my best friend,

Until my shoulders rise again.