on plans we make and made
on their apparent futility,
Although they are grand
filled with perfection, created by us;
Beautiful artwork by our clever brains.
At times they work, fragile though they are.
How do we cope if one cog in this plan
Crashes and stops the perfect wheel?
Are we flexible and filled with grace.
Do we care for the failing part,
Let it mend with our help.
Scrap the carefully laid plans,
Find healing and joy?
Just not as per plan. Permit the flow
Let imagination and love create,
Be their willing tools.
So we can have our glorious Christmas,
whether illness or snow storm strike.
Snuggled together in another place,
ease off and smile;
Whilst candles light our cottage,
Convert it to a fairy tale grotto of love.
© miriam ivarson