I knew a poet once whose job it was to make me smile. At least, that appeared to be in her role in life.
At least in my life (which is all I suppose I can claim to know about.)
At the time, I was living a life in which I needed a lot of smiling. On bad days, she would throw a short poem my way to see how it landed. If I smiled, or tried to crack a small smile, she would keep going, and soon a barrage of beautiful poetry would come my way and attempt to beat me out of my stupor of sadness.
On good days, when nary a poem needed I, she would overwhelm me with lengthy sonnets and poems that one could really only call tomes. Poem tomes. Ones I ate up and up and never wanted to end.
These days, however, it is the poet who needs the cheering up and I, not a poet, am at a loss. I have never written a poem in my short little life and wouldn’t know where to start were I to put pen to paper. And yet I know (from experience) that the one thing a sad poet needs more than anything is poetry. Good, golden poetry for him or her that she or he can do use to patch their soul.
And preferably not the dusty kind.
So I search for poetry high and low that I think will work. Poetry I think will turn the dear poet I know and her hard, sad heart into something soft and happy and smiling again.
I find it. And I pass it along. I do not know who who wrote it but I may know her.
Seven Days to Gold
there were four days before it was to be golden
and then five
and four again
if you asked her she did not think it was getting more golden
but on day seven
it was as it should be