Of Scattered Stars

Night’s raven bud of slumber yields and spills its rose on skies and fields

The woes of man that ebb and flow are set on pedestals hope

For there is not a morning born that does not offer fresh appeal

Time’s gift soft-wrapped in purple mist then set on summer’s sanguine slope

Earth’s weather-beaten brow and clime beneath the ceaseless course of time

Is like a polished ornament, not flung but hung with holy thread

Into unfathomed galaxies; the Keeper of its season-chime

Does not lose sight of this blue dot but melts its dark with gold and red

See; He does not forget, no, no, but bends to kiss faith’s fault and flaw

Forgiving Past with Future, oh, what manner of love rends the deep

Where we of meek and mortal stance can hardly speak, filled with sheer awe

That God grants us deliverance and scatters stars beneath our feet

© Janet Martin

 Through the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed,
Because His compassions fail not.   

They are new every morning;
Great is Your faithfulness.

Lam. 3:22-23

Poetic Bloomings Prompt: write a summer dawn poem