Gratitude for what is yet to come

I thank the sky before it clears,

the dawn before the dark disappears;

the hands I’ve yet to hold someday,

the quiet peace still on its way.

I plant my hope in unseen ground,

where roots will grow without a sound;

and though the soil feels bare and cold,

I speak of blossoms yet to unfold.

I don’t yet see the calm arrive,

the paths rebuilt where hopes survive,

but still I breathe and softly stay,

with all that's healing on its way.

It’s not belief in perfect plans,

but peace with what I understand;

that even in the longest wait,

something kind still meets me late.