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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Thank-you for stopping by my porch! I hope you were blessed!