This is the summer of braids and bare feet;
We manage somehow to survive the heat.
Maybe some shifts in the shimmering line
Assure us we’re well, and all will be fine.
Maybe it’s magic, and maybe it’s not,
But suddenly things don’t seem quite so hot.
We look in the mirror, knowing we must,
And find we have enough faith to trust
That whatever comes again we can face
As long as our fingers reach out for grace.
Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Whirligig #279
More Writers’ Pantry #33 at Poets and Storytellers United
Let’s make a parade, and march through the gate;
These times are trying, but we cannot wait.
Grace has gone swimming, and things are amiss—
Who in her right mind would argue with this?
See how old prejudice rears up its head?
Cut it off quickly! Make sure that it’s dead.
There’s beauty in yellow, red, white, and black;
Joy’s in the middle, the front and the back.
It’s simple, my friend, to bring a new day.
Old braids of hatred? Just snip them away!
More The Whirligig #273
More Writers’ Pantry #27 at Poets and Storytellers United