Friday, January 26, 2018

Of Steadfast Struggle...(to survive)

We, set amongst a bower of hours that stilly slip
Through buds that spill to flower, like laughter upon the lip

Where Winter, like an uncle tweaking cherry cheeks and nose
Is soon wooed by a maiden laden with lilac and rose

Where like a stream, Time slides between tried trees that line its brink
And dreams, like paper boats float on its silver gleam, then sink

Where Time enough is not enough to learn the ways of Love
How all we give and get is nice and yet, not quite enough

Where woods are like a temple, all by one true God designed
And worshippers assemble on moss-pews, views vine-entwined

… the preacher is a whisper of the wind in lofty tress
Where creature comes to reckon, without God, sad emptiness

Where, Time unfurls fresh offers in blush banners on the east
And earth unchains its coffers in an awesome beauty-feast

Where in and out of season we don work-shoes day-to-day
Not as a curse but to keep hunger’s howling hounds at bay

Where we, in this together; rich with poor and young with old
Are tethered to a Myst’ry flesh and blood cannot behold

Where what remains to be seen sometimes steals our utter breath
Where time is but a prelude to a place succeeding Death

Here we are, shod with daily struggle to survive Time’s stead
Of tuning rebel-will to God’s and filling mouth with bread

© Janet Martin

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Thank-you for stopping by my porch! I hope you were blessed by the visit! I welcome and appreciate, if thought you care to speak; the value and the input of compliment or critique