Nothing gets your attention like, 'Mom, I wasn't going to tell you this because you have enough on your plate to worry about but...' thankfully in the ensuing momentary heart-stop we think the worst possible scenario and what follows is usually not as bad as first-panic pictured😌...
which thankfully, was the case)
We can choose to live in fear of the Impending Unknown
or cling to that formless 'feather' of faith
cupped in the most nail-scar-weathered, loving and gentle hands we can imagine!
The windows through which we view life’s four season circuit frames
Climaxes of both joy and strife no night-to-morning tames
Where wake of give and take is more than a mere That or This
As jots and tittles score the face with farewell’s drawn-out kiss
Mankind, clock-locked with no way out save through the grave, must learn
To make the best with what one has on roads of no return
Because what is, is soon what was, what will be duly streams
Through flutes we lift to catch the glint of champagne-colored dreams
The aftermath that strews the path where little feet pursue
Renders sacred significance to common say-and-do
…for all that seems of little consequence scatters Somewhere
And who knows when 'what' sprouts will set a foothold or a snare
Our window to the world expands as sands of season haste
First through the flue of Higher Hands then to man’s touch and taste
Where wake of gray and gold holds so much more than we may think
As jot and tittle falls in hallmarks of permanent ink
© Janet Martin
Do not be deceived:
God cannot be mocked.
A man reaps what he sows.