Moment-moil

This little soil on which we toil

And covet mercy’s moment-moil

Is but the launching pad whereby

We learn life’s leap of faith

And fly

This little plot we fill with thought

Of home-sweet-home, earth’s heaven-dot

Is but a sparkle on sod-sea

Whereby we reach

Eternity

This little want is but the taunt

Of things to come somewhere beyond

This little soil on which we toil

And covet mercy’s

Moment-moil

© Janet Martin