As we daily grieve our losses,
And life continues to toss us,
We are being made to look up,
In the morning, noon and at sup.
We plead for mercy from above,
Watch for the flight of a small dove.
Offering us glimmers of hope,
So we can breathe and stop the mope.
And know the Master has a plan,
In His time, He will heal the land.
Lynn M. April 18, 2020
( In honor of National Poetry Month)