Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Out of Reach





Sometimes we survey the skyline
Though beckoning eyes beseech
To its far-off mist-kissed mooring
It is always out of reach

Sometimes we warm to the whisper
Of a lone wind’s wand’ring whim
But for all our winsome wishing
We will never corner him

Sometimes time is quite the trickster
We can’t really see him pass
Until the face in the mirror
Startles our looking-glass

Sometimes we forget to listen
Until heart-minstrels perform
Like the rolling of an ocean
A tempestuous echo-storm

Sometimes we wait what seems like eons
As we hope and pray and plead
While the Hand that can move mountains
Fortifies faith’s mustard seed

© Janet Martin


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