Saluting Grace Noll Crowell, American Poet - This, Too, Will Pass

February in Central Pennsylvania is always a dismal, dull month. For me, it’s always been the month which I “just try to get through” to be able to welcome spring in March.

The beginning of this year in the United States has been a tumultuous time with sadness, political disruption, and tragic loss of lives. How does one navigate through and overcome the somberness, the gloom?

Denali National Park, AK

The other night, while I was reading in bed, I heard our resident owl on the roof sending out his persistent strings of intermittent “who, who, who.” In the morning, despite the frigid temperatures, our resident chickadee was calling out its name from a leafless tree beside our back deck. Talk about two tough, persistent balls of feathers who croon despite the cold, the snow, or the sheer bleakness of the day or night.

Whenever I get down and out, I think of my mother’s words when dealing with a problem, “You can’t move a mountain in your head. So, just move one stone at a time.”

One of my favorite poems is by Grace Noll Crowell, an American poet (1877-1969), who wrote over 20 books of poems. “This, Too, Will Pass” is one of my favorites.

And I hope, with all the gloom and doom we often endure, the poem will help as we move one stone at a time to tackle those problems and mountains in our path.

This, Too, Will Pass

This, too, will pass.
O heart, say it over and over,
Out of your deepest sorrow,
out of your deepest grief,
No hurt can last forever--
Perhaps tomorrow will bring relief.                               
          
This, too, will pass.
It will spend itself--
Its fury will die as the wind dies down
with the setting sun;
Assuaged and calm, you will rest again,
Forgetting a thing that is done.

Repeat it again and again,
O heart, for your comfort;
This, too, will pass
as surely as passed before
The old forgotten pain, and the other sorrows
That once you bore.

As certain as stars at night,
or dawn after darkness,
Inherent as the lift of the blowing grass,
Whatever your despair or your frustration--
This, too, will pass.