Sonnet of Soon...

We dare not while or waste our flighty will

Nor choose the quagmire of despondency

Unless alas, no hope can set us free

And winter does not drift beyond the hill

The hour folds the cheerless into naught

Each moment holds a virgin second chance

Within the song of spring the zephyrs dance

Eager to quench their thirst with vernal draught

Life’s battle keens our bravery and trust

And we must fight; this trench of blood and dirt

Tries us; and yet in spite of living’s hurt

We praise the One who probes this vapid dust

For just as spring returns to sallow slope

His offering fills our mouths with hope

How eagerly life’s moments drink the hour

The stricken limb pulses, pregnant with bloom

The hollow void of winter’s living-room

Will surge with emerald joy and new-born flow’r

Lift up those weary feet; the dismal tear

Cannot remain; for lo, hope is not dead

The season and the valley dark with dread

If we press onward, soon will disappear

For this four-season scope of mortal whim

Is not the pinnacle of victory

Life’s highs and lows are simply what must be

Before we gather at the feet of Him

Where fear and turmoil will not test again

The hands and feet that do not strive in vain

If hope was gone, then would creation wail

And mountains fall into the sea in fear

The Living Hope that tune’s time’s transient sphere

Will never die; His Love will never fail

And just as winter warms to spring once more

So too, the chilling gale of grief will pass

Beneath the snow are oceans of green grass

This brief travail leads to Heaven’s fair shore

The cup of pain and sorrow soon will brim

With milk and honey-comb; the piercing thorn

Will bear the rose; the night becomes the morn

And someday soon we’ll touch the feet of Him

Who suffered; by His stripes we all are healed

And soon love’s mysteries will be revealed

© Janet Martin

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