Beckoning

The dazzling blue-gold day

reaches down from far, far away

between the forbidding high-rises

amongst the shades of grey.

The warm, slim finger of light

searches the streets still cold with night,

over the heads of down-turned eyes

to find my shoulder – tap, tap, tap...

The down-turned eyes shoot from side to side

around the back but not up high

“Who are you, stranger, where are you?”, say I,

brushing a light speck from my shoulder.

The long blue fingers of warmth

then run to play hide and seek,

shout "Boo!" like playful children
as I turn the corner, blind.

Surrounded by fun-loving laughter of sun

I finally say, “I know you, my friend

for you are the one, who reminds me to stray

far, far away from the dull, dark grey,

into the fields and trees of green,

to drink the fragrances, smell the stream,

yes, you are the one who reminds me to stay

far, far from the blues in a golden day”.

BY JEANETTE JONES