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Thursday, August 3, 2023

Of This...

 




If I should dare to wander where the feet of angels fear to tread
And yield to worlds that want unfurls with abandon inside my head
Then, linger where fools stand and stare at faded font of yesterday
Ah! I might miss the bloom of this before its petals drift away

If I with skilled desire should build a bridge that only thought can cross
And boldly woo a rendezvous with what will never be or was
Then vainly pause a bit because pleasure and pain must have its dance
Ah! I might miss the thrill of this, while lost in Fantasy’s romance

If I should long for some lost song because of how it made me feel
Ah! I might miss the hymn of This, where original anthems peal
To interweave with what I grieve bequeathed at birth to dusk-wreathed death
To softly kiss the joy of This as it unravels breath by breath

If I should scorn the brimming morn while hungering for what is not
And feast my eyes upon a prize contrived by idle hands of thought
Ah! I might waste the pleasing taste of sweet, sweet berries on my spoon
And I might miss the bliss of This; a glorious summer afternoon

© Janet Martin





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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!