Colin F. Jones

THE LIGHT

Tis just a sorrow,
A sadness deep and daunt,
A feared tomorrow,
A self-created haunt,
For all we borrow,
Returns again to taunt
In every furrow,
Of faces grim and gaunt.
Still there is the light,
Faded now and pale,
Yet eager to be bright,
In all its fine detail,
Always there in sight
Not allowing us to fail
For love always right
Forever will prevail