The wayfaring poet delights
In timeless joys of old
The ebony of midnight deep
Its cup of morning gold
The fragment’s of a season’s cloak
Scattered on earthen floor
The sweep of dawn flooding life’s road
Of grace to her front door
The pigment on hope’s grand palette
Draws her toward the Hand
Spilling His daily Masterpiece
Freely across the land
The wayfaring poet hungers
And feasts her yearning thought
On moment-possibility
In all that yet is not
She dwells in nature’s palace
Willing to seal in ink
The passionate, ephemeral gasp
Of life’s perplexing wink
And in each moment-jewel
That glimmers on time’s sod
She thrills to shape the gossamer
Of word to gifts from God
© Janet Martin
When I got up the dawn was an expressionless gray, spiked suddenly with gold only to slip back again behind a wall of sudden flurries...stunning!
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!