Poem: “Grace”


What’s this?
One small seed
Blown here from who knows where
Has sprouted from the dirt?
Ivy tentacles clutch deeply
One lonely finger of vine stretches
Spirals off tendrils that
Sprout berries, flowers, and leaves
Pallor decreases
Each day more growth
Diminishes the whitewashed sepulcher
Ever so surely
Grace transforms it

Michele Marie

Michele Marie is a poet and creative writer from Illinois.
To read more, go to Michele Marie's Poetry by the Fireside Blog at