Sunshine

A poem by Isabelle Sorrells


The sun is cruel and it is kind.

It makes me feel alive and at times dead.

It fills me with warmth on windy days,

A delightful reprieve from cold

That reigned for so long.

It forces the water out

To cling to my skin

Bringing a flush to my cheeks

And to see green where it does not exist.

It makes my work hard

And my rest at times full of both happiness and loathing.

Some days, I am grateful for the sun.

Some days, I am grateful for the clouds.

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