With new-born breath we are enrolled
Into the School
of Life
Where no one is too young or old
To taste Time’s joy or strife
Life spills its lessons in the moil
Of toil’s everyday vaunt
Its students we, of sorrow’s spoil
Of have and hold and want
The hunger of life’s loss and love
Begins on birth’s first page
First touch, first step, first word, we move
From age to age to age
…as from one class we graduate
Only to humbly find
New lessons laid on learning's plate
To test heart, hand and mind
The Teacher is a tree, a child,
A thousand voices veiled
Within the winsome and the wild
Of battles won and failed
The Master is a loving God
Not harsh or cruel or grim
He scrawls our lessons on earth’s sod
To prove our need of Him
The wise take heed and ever learn
The wonder of it all
While foolish loathe, spurn and return
A wasted, crumpled
ball
Once more Time opens up its door
This day the Lord has made
Invites us to learn and explore
Toward our passing grade
© Janet Martin
I held a new-born recently marveling at her response to touch, her need as she whimpered in hunger...
Her Grandma shares a burden of sorrows for a daughter being tested beyond understanding, yet filled with joy at the wonder of new life; ah, the spectrum of life-lessons, intense, hard, beautiful...
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!