Treasure the Measure...

Treasure the measure of summer’s swift pleasure

For at the mercy of seasons are we

Hours are flowers unfolding in bowers

Spilled out in moments whose breadth none can see

Tarry, then bury the past that will ne’er be

Look where a new day is filling the sky

Older, we shoulder Time’s ethereal boulder

Still, virgin moments quicken their reply

Soundless stampede; need and greed bleed freely

Where we seek blessing in spite of The Curse

Humbly, we stumble and fumble; why grumble?

We’re in this together, for better or worse

So treasure the measure of summer’s swift pleasure

Not as a fool loosely spending Time’s gold

Better, as debtor to One we will weather

By His kind mercy what grace will unfold

© Janet Martin

‘Getting old is hard’, said the brave, silver-haloed warrior and I knew she referred to far more than physical ailment. Life can hold its keenest disappointments until we are old, but its return is a softer and more gracious love for others if we allow grace to work its wonder.