Monday, August 19, 2013


The days of wheat and corn adorn
The haze of early August morn
In praises, ere its sheaf is shorn
By Time’s swift, willing hands
The farmer gleans its harvest-gold
And summer leans to autumn’s hold
While moment-skeins unfold, unfold
A subtle, steady strand

The sun and moon their courses tread
The azure noon succumbs to red
As gentle vesper-tunes embed
This day into the past
The flower grins then falls away
The sinner sins but then we pray
And grace begins another day
Toward our ever-last

The scroll on which our past is writ
A toll of living’s wit and grit
Cannot contain the whole of it
A greater Day a-waits
Man’s life is like a field of grass
This strife is but the darkened glass
Through which the scythe of grief must pass
Leading to Heaven’s gates

© Janet Martin


  1. Janet, another beautiful write. I especially love "this strife is but the darkened glass". This reads like one of the classic poems. Very lovely.

  2. Hi Sherry,...and thank-you vor your ever-encouraging voice in the world of poetry. (())


Thank you for your visit to this porch. I'd love to hear if or how this post/poem touched you!