Keep Believing

in the straight parallel stems of cyclamens, the swept-back petals
in the riot of colour of every dying leaf and not just trees but willow herb and bilberry, and the fading flowers of the heather
in tomorrow in tomorrow in tomorrow
in the possibility of poetry
in nothing staying the same
in moods not staying the same
in pain not staying the same

that the fire will light
that everything is in some fundamental sense alright
that things can get better and are getting better
that happiness is actually possible

even probable