A solitaire plays solitaire
In empty, aching and torrid air
Hating place, company and game.
All the while moving and losing
Even winning feels the same.
Thinking of discontent
Thinking of free will consent
Thinking how they can come together.
Like that funnel cloud coming now
Coming angry and boy and how
Not the hoped for change in the weather.
The solitaire picks up the pace
With intent to out race
The torrid and funnelling air.
Help could be everywhere
Or could be nearby somewhere
But not a soul to be seen anywhere.
Suddenly with a plop
Magically a figure drops
Says, “My name is Ms. D. Gale.
My name tells you I was that funnel,
You’ve no need to tent in a tunnel.
I’m pleased to be your holy grail.”
“My experience it is great
And I can greatly relate
To those in the desert of hate.
I’ve two gifts just for you
To break away those misery blues
A new heart and a pair of red shoes.”
The misery breaks