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