Of Felled Fronds...

Though it lingers soon the fingers

from a hand we cannot still

Steals the such-and-such we touch

like lilies felled upon yon hill

And the Face once flushed with pleasure

at the treasure it beheld

Learns the elemental measure

of moments that mutely meld

Weaving in their wake meek wonder

for a strange and younger cast

Stirring sentimental hunger

in the heart for seasons past

Yet the very ache that turns our heads

compels us to commit

...to never overlook the threads

soon woven into it

© Janet Martin

Hugs and special prayers today for those holding

dark threads...

They will, Lord willing, become bright again!

This poem By Corrie Ten Boom

is a tender reminder of the big picture

The Tapestry

My life is but a weaving

Between my God and me.

I cannot choose the colors

He weaveth steadily.

Oft’ times He weaveth sorrow;

And I in foolish pride

Forget He sees the upper

And I the underside.

Not ’til the loom is silent

And the shuttles cease to fly

Will God unroll the canvas

And reveal the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful

In the weaver’s skillful hand

As the threads of gold and silver

In the pattern He has planned

He knows, He loves, He cares;

Nothing this truth can dim.

He gives the very best to those

Who leave the choice to Him.