Saturday, December 26, 2020

For Day-to-Day Dancers


Where every high is always hinged to possible pitfalls 
And every low is always tinged with hope because of grace 
Where beauty of beginnings juxtaposes yester-halls 
That weave a labyrinth of echoes no finger can trace

Where we all suffer stumbles that make sacred what remains 
Where skin-thin walls are thick enough to keep out curious eyes 
To worlds that spill through meager frames like fenceless fens and plains 
 Where thought is like a footloose fellow full of smiles and sighs 

Where what we learn is never quite enough to close the book 
On lessons that still wait to teach us what only time can 
Where we will always find something to cheer us if we look 
Where things that really matter have not changed since time began 

Where no one can take credit for what God alone designed 
And none of us can edit no matter how hard we try 
Where what we touch of seasons is soon dust-to-dust resigned 
Where we are all far more than meets the ardor of the eye 

Where star-strewn streets and clumsy feet are oddly interknit 
Where longing’s choreography sustains the dreamer’s dance 
And heavy brooms sweep out ballrooms for ballads not yet writ 
Waiting to make their debut on a floor of Second-chance 

© Janet Martin

Something about this morning's snowy 'trek-and spec' sparked this poem...
(maybe part of it started when my foot caught in a big torn seam
 in my snow pants and landed me on my hands and head 
before I knew what hit me)😀
Life's like that sometimes. We're just cruising along
feeling pretty fleet of foot and fancy when...kerplunk!!

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