Ah, we parade across graves filled with dust of bygone
days
That gathered in the skin of grin and groans
well-seasoned ways
That pulsed with life beneath hope’s oriflamme of grace
and truth
That drew new feet to dreamer’s shoes once worn by yester’s
youth
Before the tug of tick and tock drew them with hug and blow
To where we are today, pray, tuned to Mercy’s undertow
The seeds we scatter as we go will bear fruit in due time
Past, present, future’s fibril intricately intertwined
Where we can never sever consequence from choice and deed
As sure enough and soon enough the fruit will prove the
seed
Where only fools assume somehow the harvest will not show
Our fear and love or lack thereof to Mercy’s undertow
How often our goals reflect more than we first perceive
As motive proves who we respect and who we live to please
Then this behooves us now and then to re-evaluate
What leads to what and in the end, its manifold estate
As Hello begets fare-thee-well, hold begets letting go
Last breath begets what yet waits beyond Mercy’s undertow
© Janet Martin
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
great is your faithfulness.
Lam.22-23
