Weight-lifting

What is this weight; out by the gate the goldenrod turns yellow

A young man stands where Time’s swift hands have stolen ‘mom's wee fellow’

Those days we dreamed about have come and gone; its veiled tomorrows

Like buds, have borne the rose and thorn of livings joys and sorrows

What is this weight; is it the frigate of an hour pressing?

Morning unmoors from phantom shores a fleet of untried blessing

And soon our feet will taste its street where want and wisdom clashes

How fair the dust of wanderlust; how stringent Duty’s sashes

What is this weight; God fills our plate from mercy's boundless table

He knows our woes and weaknesses and how much we are able

To bear; the air is heavy where we've yearned and prayed and pondered 

Yet cannot persuade nature's law to refund mercies squandered

What is this weight; each circled date that once consumed our passion

Has slipped into The Yonder Blue in time’s tried and true fashion

Its aftermath a muted path of loss-and-laughter molding

What is this weight; methinks it is the Love of God unfolding

© Janet Martin

... What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?
Romans 8:31