Grief is such a fickle feeling,
Waning and waxing like the moon,
And sometimes sitting still like fog,
Hovering, hindering sight.
Sometimes it trickles down upon you;
Sometimes it rains down hard,
Flooding, drowning, carrying you
To where it seems so dark.
Then the sun shines through the rain
And memories resurface,
Those puffy clouds of happiness
That turn your countenance.
Yes grief is such a fickle feeling,
But Jesus is the same today
And yesterday and tomorrow.
He changes not. I’ll rest in Him.
