Weighing the Balance

The ballad of time's live-laugh-love

Flows in the undertow

Through ether tent of seasons spent 

In living's high and low

Oh, I could sigh for days gone by

And wishes not come true

And I could weep for Yester’s keep

But what good would it do?

That begging bin beneath my skin

Though love pours out its gold

Is hollow still, against my will

And I am growing old

Inhale, exhale, a sacred grail

Filled with fresh vim and verve

Pours through love’s ache of give and take

Much more than I deserve

…though I could cry for days gone by

And dream’s futility

Life is too swift to miss the gift

Of what yet waits to be

© Janet Martin