This bit of string to which we cling
But cannot tell how near or far
Until it slips beyond this blip
Where all of living’s moments are
Does not waft, soft somewhere aloft
In forgotten obscurity
But it is laced through Love’s embrace
And held by Hands we cannot see
Today the dawn had pinned upon
Its blue lapel, a shiny moon
Before the sun had quite begun
To climb its stair of air to noon
Yet He who guides the vaulted tides
And sets in motion, everything
Holds carefully and tenderly
This bit of string to which we cling
Time’s awesome thread of hope and dread
Trembles with triumph and despair
Its seamless surge where moments merge
Shortens the span twixt Here and There
Its quick click, click is not a trick
To mock us in its dying sting
Oh no, we climb this thing called Time
To meet the One who holds the string
© Janet Martin
It's a blurry-flurry morning...
