Winsome Woo

The magnitude of the snow-majesty we are enjoying is impossible

to capture with a camera-lens!

It rouses within a winsome woo words cannot capture quite...

Now woos a winsome sense of blues. Of golds and grays and greens

Impressionistic avenues woven through wafting scenes

Of unfurled hues of joy and strife’s herculean highs and lows

Where morn to eventide rolls rife with all that life bestows

And season-song cuts like a knife where so-long ebbs and flows

The catalyst to letting go can shield us from the sum

Of touch and taste and holding’s holy showdowns yet to come

Where youth soon dons truth’s tinges; it is futile to rebel

Where summer’s flashy fringes deck the halls of autumn’s knell

Where hello always hinges to the framework of farewell

Because beginnings always end and ‘end’ always begins

Now woos a winsome sense of friendship through what always thins

To Old Year almost over where the New Year waits to spill

Both knee-deep dell of clover and steep, courage-honing hill

New worlds yet to discover and blank pages yet to fill

Now woos within the stark, dark imminence of vast unknowns

A sense of golds and blues that mark the ‘Thence’ of Steppingstones

That ultimately lead toward That Single Certainty

Of face-to-face with Christ the Lord and of eternity

Thus, therefore, no one can afford to ignore what will be

Where we are lavished with what slips through fingertips with ease

To leave behind the winsome fellowship of memories

Where heartstrings bind the ties of love, of hope and hunger too

Around impressions of a glove filled with the winsome woo

Of what is never quite enough of love’s green-gold-gray-blue

© Janet Martin