Pubber of the Year ... 2016

Slough (Richard Higley)

Slough

The skin she wears has grown too tight,

To small to hold her body right.

This growth is new, she's just been fed,

Expanding what she thought was dead.

She's like a snake in this one way,

Before her change, her look was gray,

Her vision clouded by the old,

A roil of muck from what she told.

But here's the rub, quite literally,

Without some help, she can't break free.

She'll rub against the rough that's rife,

To help to peel her old dead life.

Against the stone's and stick's abuse,

The shell she sheds is coming loose.

Once there's a crack in leathered skin,

The shine of hope, no longer thin,

Will spur new growth, as though it's spring,

As fledglings go from nest to wing.

When snakes slough of the old for new,

They leave behind the residue.

Our baggage, though's a different kind.

Our residue is in the mind.

Our ash pit's due a cleansing sweep,

Each forward step, in faith, a leap.

It's not a hardship that we care,

As in our hearts, our friends, we bear.

Richard Higley © Dec. 7, 2016