Another poem and another card

This one by Anne Sexton. I'm sad and out of words of my own today, and this poem rings true for me in many ways.

Be careful of words,even the miraculous ones.

For the miraculous ones we do our best,

sometimes they swarm like insects

and leave not a sting but a kiss.

They can be good as fingers.

They can be trusty as the rock

you stick your bottom on.

But they can be both daisies and bruises.

Yet I am in love with words.

They are doves falling out of the ceiling.

They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap.

They are the trees, the legs of summer,

and the sun, its passionate face.
Yet often they fail me.

I have so much I want to say,

so many stories, images, proverbs, etc.

But the words aren't good enough,

the wrong ones kiss me.

Sometimes I fly like an eagle

but with the wings of a wren.

But I try to take care

and be gentle to them.

Words and eggs must be handled with care.

Once broken they are impossible

things to repair.

Anne Sexton