A Spark of Worth

Little orange mushrooms sprout,

The ruffle running along a crack

In the dark wooded log.

The rain is constant,

Drizzling across the lake,

Fogging the air,

Settling gloom into everything.

The brilliant fungus is a spark,

A kindling in the darkness,

A fish in a deep,

deserted part of the sea.

They’re a shard of hope 

That something beautiful will arise,

Arise from the misery being rained on us.

They’re a symbol that it will get better,

More brightness will come.

More tiny perfect things will appear.

The tiny perfect things will be a candle,

Lighting our way to optimism,

Making the rough parts of life worth it.