Age-old New

 this poem was inspired in part by 'the age-old New' aka morning

New day like a sky wide duvet of blush and blue and gold, unfolds

Above earth’s trench-and-trove tableau bursting with what the future holds

The loom that weaves lifetimes resumes its subtle dismantling of youth

Doubt and deception’s clout still the bold, uncouth archrivals of truth

Desire and duty aspire, conspire, compose reply

While pardon cradles gardens and gutters and stutters of oh-my

...either to He who orchestrates the sky-wide Gates of day and night

Or to lesser gods, frauds with an insatiable appetite

Once more the day the Lord has made is laden with bitter and sweet

Morn’s mantle soon trampled and torn by the plunder of hands and feet

Soft as a featherdown duvet wafting aloft, dawn’s first burst fades

Into the noise of grief and joy’s brief and boisterous escapades

Time’s climes, where nursery rhymes, sun-bonnets, sonnets, hymns and scars accrue

Unfold landscapes where echoes traipse while wonder gapes at age-old New

© Janet Martin

It was also inspired by a new, old nursery-rhyme book...

...because this grandmother just can't seem to resist 

Mother Goose and her silly, sweet, and sometimes

slightly shocking entourage!  😅💛

And after all, isn't Mother Goose like Winnie the Pooh?

For children of all ages??

(the artists all seem to have their personal gift/style of whimsy)