Wednesday, August 6, 2014


What is this weight; out by the gate the goldenrod turns yellow
A young man stands where Time’s swift hands have stolen ‘mom's wee fellow’
Those days we dreamed about have come and gone; its veiled tomorrows
Like buds, have borne the rose and thorn of livings joys and sorrows

What is this weight; is it the frigate of an hour pressing?
Morning unmoors from phantom shores a fleet of untried blessing
And soon our feet will taste its street where want and wisdom clashes
How fair the dust of wanderlust; how stringent Duty’s sashes

What is this weight; God fills our plate from mercy's boundless table
He knows our woes and weaknesses and how much we are able
To bear; the air is heavy where we've yearned and prayed and pondered 
Yet cannot persuade nature's law to refund mercies squandered

What is this weight; each circled date that once consumed our passion
Has slipped into The Yonder Blue in time’s tried and true fashion
Its aftermath a muted path of loss-and-laughter molding
What is this weight; methinks it is the Love of God unfolding

© Janet Martin

... What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?
Romans 8:31

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