Heaven's Threshold has Red, Chipped Paint

I did not envision heaven’s threshold
With chipped and worn red paint
I always pictured it in gold
It’s vigil by a saint

I thought the stream beside its tread
Would be crystal, sublime
I see a river flow instead
A river known as Time

Across its brink dash children’s feet
With muddy-gilded trace
And mother is the one to greet
To let go, to embrace

I did not envision heaven’s stair
With red paint, chipped and worn
But I have held an angel there
With wing, bruised, tired or torn

And I have seen the face of God
Though I am not a saint
Heaven’s threshold warms earth’s sod
With chipped and worn, red paint

Janet

Heaven’s threshold needs paint…
But how do you close off the step
over which every hello and good-bye
to and from home passes…
worn paint on the launching pad to life…