Behind facades of gold and green,
Of fields bathed bronze in early light
Or season-tides that surge unseen
Disguised as morning, noon and night
Within life’s little tick-tock share
Of hurt and hunger, laughter, grief
We stretch our hands but cannot snare
The nuances which fill Time's sheaf
The clock strikes twelve; another year
Slips soft into the atmosphere
The canvas where we oft laid bare
Love’s stunning attributes of trust
Its ravishment of hope, despair
Its pinnacles of want and must
Is snuffed by nothing but the chime
Of midnight and while wise men sleep
The subtle dictation of Time
Claims one more year within its keep
Futile to clench or shake the fist
We cannot cling to moment-mist
Is life but extolment of prayer?
While dream-slayers and sages vie
We stumble, fly and soon stand where
Another year whispers good-bye
Spring’s bully-green is winter-white
And youth, ah youth is borne away
Upon this morning, noon and night
And vapor shaping yesterday
Blessing and burden coalesce
To teach us trust and happiness
Ah, see the sun rise from the trench
Of twilight on a beach somewhere
Mercy and love’s compassion drench
Morning; ‘tis more than scripted air
And we are more than young and old
Marching toward death’s ether clime
Where history is but the hold
Of tick-tock chant and moment-mime
This green and gold season-facade
Unfolds the road that leads to God
© Janet Martin
