It feels like an unending journey of comebacks and setbacks, Setbacks and comebacks, From frying pan to fire to a pot of boiling water, A circus and a freak show.
This too shall pass, This too must pass, This too has to pass, It always does!
At some point the curtains close and the circus ends, The noise dies down, The flame quenches and the water becomes lukewarm. Doesn’t it?
There comes rain after the storm, The sun rises in the morn, Spring, summer, Autumn, winter.
At the scent of water, A dead tree will bud, It will sprout and put out branches. It will flourish as one that never perished.
AFRO387 