My soul so heavy with carking care,
Each separate anguish layered there
Singularly might not be
So rough and burdensome for me,
But massed together bring such weight
They bow me down, I’m desolate.
“Lift up your head, divert your eye
And look!” Right there before me lies
A glistening stream, cerulean flow
That draws me forward, and though I’m slow
To make my way, to stoop and drink,
Imbibing at the water’s brink,
The quickening draft restores my soul
From what that loathsome burden stole.
And so I let the backpack slip
From off my shoulders; release its grip,
And make my way into the stream
That glimmers, shines, with life-light teems
And find relief for lay’rs of care,
A balm for cumbers’ load and wear.
~ Kathryn Kircher, poet
