The garb of night and yesterday
Like love-worn dancers slips away
No sound of feet upon the air
As they ascend Time’s astral stair
Pedestrians upon a street
Where past-present-future compete
Gilt overlay spills unabashed
And where yester-intentions clashed
Once more Time’s morning cup o’er-flows
Where we uplift our wants and woes
To He who cares and intercedes
And satisfies our truest needs
Then, should the grace of God persist
Soon Time consumes this thing of mist
Collecting once again its due
Where now this day is strange and new
Too soon its swaddled beck and call
Lies where dusk’s reaching shadows fall
Then where its reaching shadows fall
...an eighth note in Time's madrigal
We cannot turn back to recast
What we have written on the past
But now, the old is done away
And in its place a brand new day
© Janet Martin
How is it, I ponder, that something as age-old as Eden can feel so new...morning! What will this day hold as reaching shadows fall? words too hastily spoken (ouch) or thoughtful encouragement? Will it bear disappointment or delight? Such a little potent cup...this thing 'from morn til night'!
By God's grace we go! He blessed us with sunny weather to put out gardens and the farmer's are going strong!
