This carpet whereon life is lent
And time is held
And seasons spent
Then melded to the framework of
The workmanship of man
Is such a patient sweep of sod
Where hurried feet
And stragglers trod
To greet the handiwork of God
And meet its Master Plan
This benchmark betwixt here and there
Beneath Time’s
Palaces of air
Climbs to the beaming skyline where
Another days unveils its face
While on the street the thrum of feet
In staccato
Percussion beats
The carpet whereon life is lent
Then returned to its resting place
The signature of winter’s tree
Like black ink
Is scrawled intricately
Against the pink of yonder brink
Along the edge of sky and land
The carpet whereon life is lent
A snowflake
On time's outstretched hand
Soon folds the showcases we hold
To dust whereon we stand
It begs one’s thought to ponder then
When we have gone
The way of men
And our shell of wand’ring Bent
Is returned to its place of birth
…the carpet whereon life is lent
Then swallowed up
Its filament
Of gathered days, our testament;
Will we leave anything of worth?
© Janet Martin
Blessed is the one who fears the LORD always, but whoever hardens his heart will fall into calamity.
Prov.28:14
