Turn The Tables (Snu På Flisa.) Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The spark is there, not dimmed, not gone,
A tiny flame to carry on.
But something holds me, keeps me still,
Against my wanting, against my will.

I know the reason, in my heart,
The body's weary, torn apart.
Recent battles, hard and grim,
Have left a shadow on each limb.

It's natural, I tell myself,
To rest a while upon the shelf.
But whispers rise, a gentle call,
To rise again, before I fall.

'Snu på flisa, ' they used to say,
Back home where mountains meet the bay.
'Turn the tables, ' shift your view,
And find a strength you didn't knew.

The rocking chair, it feels so deep,
A promise of a peaceful sleep.
But heart attacks and stubborn blood,
Demand I move, for my own good.

The snow falls thick, a winter's hold,
Adventure waits, when skies are gold.
But even now, a small advance,
A step, a stretch, a hopeful glance.

T.M.Solvang