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Posted in Poetry

A There is effort in these days, settled after the
Slow blur of childhood,
Whirlwind of keys, to degrees to family tides;
Ebbing and flowing with
Challenge, delight and growth.
Time, though some question its integrity,
Is not the enemy.  It is not.
Time has arranged this; to find me here,
Deep into it, callused and spun;
Long ago past the point of no return.
Right where I am supposed to be.

There is effort in these days, unique and perfect,
Tumblers clicking to inspiration's gifts, to 
Solve problems thought unsolvable,
And to reveal the infinite beauty of
Pace, soothe, and heart.
Time, though some think it fickle;
A thoughtful facilitator, really.  Time is wise.
It planned a shift in perfect step,
Calm and patient, avoided the urge to
Try too soon and miss the goal, but waited instead.
Time waited; biding, biding.

There is effort in these days, but in one moment, a gain;
A subtle surprise of grand expanse.
With mindful guidance I am changed and
See myself a worthy soul, unbound from
Shadows, meek and timid.
Time saw fit to lift the shroud,
To draw me up in careful thought.  Graceful.  Brilliant.
And with new breath, new eyes, new heart,
In fresher light I see my past and
Take the future in my teeth.
But as I rise with appetite, a focus toward my best, my due,
A great injustice it would be, remiss, to wave time's mastery by
As just a thing, a passing nod;

It's nothing small.  It means the world; relief and zest,
And I am grateful, floored and new.

- Suzanne Crone