Soon, The fog will fade. But, While you wait, For the light To again invade, Receive The ink To Make a way For the seeds. For you cannot (yet) Write your way through. The soil is not fertile. The air is not clear. The seeds are not prepared. But, one day, The fog will fade And, The light will make a way. For the soil to welcome The seeds, Laid by your hands And the ink It once, In the waiting, Had received. For one day, The words Will rise To tell the story. Yes, They will rise, In due time. You are sowing Something beautiful In your waiting And In your grief.