You take your time like choosing a fine wine.
What color?
What flavor?
What year?
You draw near even in the face of fear.
What courage.
What gusto.
What gear.
You give more than I can ignore.
What grace.
What wisdom.
What light.
Harvest has come and I'm left undone in fields weary from worry and strife.
The storehouse is closed, bails loaded - brows bowed.
The work of the day is worn like old clothes.
Bring rest in the day and refreshment along the way.
Dig a soul well deep in ebb or flow.
Create something sweet from each challenge we meet.
Store it in the heart cellar for a cold rainy day -
like today.
Copyright T.L. Eastman June 2012
Image by donnobru on deviant art - visit donnobru's site by clicking here.
What color?
What flavor?
What year?
You draw near even in the face of fear.
What courage.
What gusto.
What gear.
You give more than I can ignore.
What grace.
What wisdom.
What light.
Harvest has come and I'm left undone in fields weary from worry and strife.
The storehouse is closed, bails loaded - brows bowed.
The work of the day is worn like old clothes.
Bring rest in the day and refreshment along the way.
Dig a soul well deep in ebb or flow.
Create something sweet from each challenge we meet.
Store it in the heart cellar for a cold rainy day -
like today.
Copyright T.L. Eastman June 2012
Image by donnobru on deviant art - visit donnobru's site by clicking here.
Comments