The days of wheat and corn adorn
The haze of early August morn
In praises, ere its sheaf is shorn
By Time’s swift, willing hands
The farmer gleans its harvest-gold
And summer leans to autumn’s hold
While moment-skeins unfold, unfold
A subtle, steady strand
The sun and moon their courses tread
The azure noon succumbs to red
As gentle vesper-tunes embed
This day into the past
The flower grins then falls away
The sinner sins but then we pray
And grace begins another day
Toward our ever-last
The scroll on which our past is writ
A toll of living’s wit and grit
Cannot contain the whole of it
A greater Day a-waits
Man’s life is like a field of grass
This strife is but the darkened glass
Through which the scythe of grief must pass
Leading to Heaven’s gates
© Janet Martin
Janet, another beautiful write. I especially love "this strife is but the darkened glass". This reads like one of the classic poems. Very lovely.
ReplyDeleteHi Sherry,...and thank-you vor your ever-encouraging voice in the world of poetry. (())
ReplyDelete