Through the numbering of ages and its pages filled with dust
In the din of living’s battle to survive its tick by tock
In the purple mist of morning and the blue bayou of dusk
Through the new soon old and weathered by time’s bold and
steady clock
From the bud that bears its beauty to the frail and fallen
husk
From the barrenness of winter to the fullness of the shock
Through youth’s learning, yearning stages to the heights of
middle age
To the learning, yearning sages where time's willing wise are
taught
And have gleaned amidst its weaning, life’s deeper meaning;
this cage
Of skin and bone and grin and moan and harboring of thought
Is but a bitty portion of a Greater Pilgrimage
Aha, aha, some laugh and say while others pray a lot
Through the winnowing where whispers murmur moments into
years
And all of us come to a flash-point where we realize
How soft-subtle, brief-beautiful a lifetime disappears
And suddenly we sense its breath before our very eyes
Still, through the numbered ages and its ordering of
spheres
And surface, sundry changes, God, our changeless God abides
© Janet Martin
