Finally in the up-right position after a hum-dinger of a flu or something!
I tried to 'feel better' this morning, attempting a slow-bustle for 2 hours from 6:00 'til 8:00;
seeing everyone out the door with their 'travel-bags' for the day or week depending on the person:)
seeing everyone out the door with their 'travel-bags' for the day or week depending on the person:)
...then I thought maybe if I write my body will forget its sick, so I did (a little) until it was time to pick up my daughter after her exam at 10:00.
Came home to crash on the couch sleeping off and on for the better part of the day!
Came home to crash on the couch sleeping off and on for the better part of the day!
I am not a patient patient...so happy to be feeling like I might be on the upswing!
The Weaver of Time’s lariat flings gold lakes across
the land
His whisper weaves the chariot of another day at hand
As Mercy metes the Stead whereby we traverse morn-to-night
Partakers of The Grace that rattles faith’s cages with
sight
Life’s journeyed miles, hinged to a fringe of fathoms
mystical
Repeats its clock-style circuit, with ne’er two identical
And like wild horses set to race across earth's waking strand
Dawn draws ajar the flood-gates of another day at hand
Its gifted breath before the death of all we touch and
taste
Drives us forward; futile to stare at former fancies chased
But on this grin-and-bear-it-win-lose-share-it stricken sand
The rider and the chariot greet another day at hand
Each hour, like a lariat soft-lobbed toward its quest
Cannot lasso the chariot that wheels from east to west
It riles Time’s child a little then discharges its demand
Until it is refurbished with another day at hand
© Janet Martin
Below is version #1 written before the 'tweak'...
sometimes after the tweak I'm no longer sure which version isworse better.
Below is version #1 written before the 'tweak'...
sometimes after the tweak I'm no longer sure which version is
The Weaver of Time’s throughway flings gold quilts across the
land
His whisper wakes the wonder of another day at hand
As Mercy metes the means whereby we traverse morn-noon-night
And partake of the grace that rattles faith’s cages with
sight
Life’s journeyed miles hinged to a fringe of fathoms
mystical
Repeats its clock-style circuit, with ne’er two identical
Of ‘now we lay us down to sleep’ and now we ‘rise and shine’
To join the jostling on a street of ‘how are you’, ‘I’m
fine’
This gifted breath before the death of all we touch and
taste
Drives us forward; futile to stare at former fancies chased
But in this grin-and-bear-it-win-lose-share-it, still at
hand
The Weaver of its throughway flings gold streets across the
land
Each hour, like a lariat soft-lobbed toward its quest
Cannot lasso the chariot that wheels from east to west
It riles Time’s child a little then discharges its demand
‘Til Whispers wake the wonder of another day at hand
© Janet Martin
