I think a keyboard to the poet/writer is like a painter's tray to an artist...full of possibility!
Oh, how I would love to 'paint' all day....! But,
Today is full of a tempting array of loves to indulge other than one of life's best; little ones.
It's been quite a while since I have had the freedom to choose a little,
how I would like to use the hours of day!
So much to love and SO little day...what is an
oldish woman girl to do 😉
Yesterday I saw a snow owl for the first time in my life!
(thanks to a kind neighbor who called to let me know one is perched in a tree in his field:)
...then I turn to see dusk shushing the day beneath shadow-shawls...
...and once more I am blown away by how much
the Creator has granted/planted to stir our worship to Him
So much to love; like shushing shadow-blues laid on gold bars
Before hues meld into black velvet heavens specked with stars
Or winter’s orchard, like a marketplace after the crowd
Where the scuttle of brittle leaves, in eve’s soft hush, seems loud
So much to love; March buds begin to puff like rosy cheeks
As we begin to count down days ‘til spring instead of weeks
Where sap runs drip-tip-tap as maple gold is mined from trees
Where napping nooks are tickled by the whiskers of a breeze
So much to love; a five-star meal of homemade bread and soup
The lark that stirs the dark with song; a snow-owl’s pristine suit
The reed that sports a russet overcoat, tattered and spent
Where Old Man Winter vexed its posture but left it unbent
So much to love; the cheerfulness of fellows, half-past three
Where they have not yet fallen prey to green-eyed jealousy
The way time sweeps its kitchen clean as bedtime prayers are said
And never bids us live again the day it tucks to bed
So much to love; the color-wheel of sight and sound runs rife
With what is soon an afternoon lost to the laws of life
Don’t let shut eyes or loosened sighs provoked by what is not
Cement a wall that stands too tall to notice what we’ve got
So much to love; soon time-enough like a worn work-glove lies
Where now the beckoning of what yet waits is like a prize
Before the reckoning; then with these gifts from God above
Be glad to be astonished by how much there is to love
© Janet Martin