We crawl, sprawl, fall; thought’s ether hall
Compels us to inspire touch
And thus we dare to care, bear; share a prayer
For all its broken shards and such
We hope; grope faith’s impalpable rope. The slope
Of future rising where
Only thought, fraught with want’s intangible lot
Climbs its phantom stair
We breathe, bequeath to heaven’s unseen Hand beneath
Our stumbling steps and pleas
He holds, scolds, molds our folds of grays and golds
Into His masterpiece
© Janet Martin
No comments:
Post a Comment
I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!