A Fable

There is a fable of a strange figure,
Lit from within,
Like a firefly caught inside a bottle,
Heat rising from her skin,
Dancing her way as lantern light
For the weary traveler.

I hold my flashlight tightly
Making my own way
Masked behind cottage cheese clouds
Well above treeline’s stay,
Fighting lethargy overtaking
Any hope to climb higher.

In these days of virus,
In these days of awakening,
Exhaustion is the porridge
Of my daily mourning.
I refuse to give in. I will
Shine what light I have to give,
Dance what steps I remember,
Zoom like a firefly in dark of night,
Never losing hope that
I can fashion change.

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