Isn't It Just Beautiful?

Isn’t it just beautiful; this thing that living weaves

Of ordinary dinner-hour, rain slipping from green leaves

Of moments melting summertime into a pot of gold

Before the winter gathers one more year into its hold

Isn’t it just beautiful; the rising, falling swell

Of morning-tide and vesper-sigh, of greeting and farewell

Of seasons painting pictures that we spread upon the air

Where no one else can see those master-pieces hanging there

Isn’t it just beautiful; the bitter and the sweet

As Auld Lang Syne and nursery rhyme and harvest-time compete

Of baby-kiss and child-hood bliss, of sorrow’s tender strife

Isn’t it just beautiful; these threads that weave a life

© Janet Martin

The slide-show of the deceased showed a young bride to mother to grandmother to great-grandmother. Now she rests in peace.