Troubadour

From the fount of summer morning

From the inkwell of a flow’r

From the mountain and the meadow

And the sun and shadow bow’r

From the woodland and the moorland

And the never-land of dreams

From the lofty heights of triumph

And the lowly sorrow streams

From the hurt and dirt of living

From song and dance of youth

From the freedom of forgiving

And the changeless ways of truth
from the true-blueness of heavens

From the wellspring of a thought

From the laughter of a loved one

And the chatter of a tot

From the wander-ways of travel

And the fonder stays of home

Splays the Will that holds time’s gavel

And the quill that holds its poem

© Janet Martin