My Hope vacillates too often within me,
During these solitaire days of fog and rain
Which become dreary and duller than they should be;
He waivers past heavy, budded spring tree;
He saunters down shady forest lane.
His home is elsewhere and cannot stay;
He marks the days… weeks on lengthy list,
He’s lonely as time slowly melts away,
He’s lonely gazing at skies slate gray;
Seeking heavenly bodies waiting in morning mist.
The desolate, deserted towns and trees,
The vanishing views of airborne sky,
The empty parks and pathways he hardly sees;
He’s unable to capture these…
And we ask a puzzling question of, “Why”?
Not ever will one come to really know,
The fear which lingers with pandemic days;
After this pestilence fades like winter’s snow
Will we bow the knee to God in praise?
“For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal glory… “
2 Corinthians 4:17
Written in the spirit of Robert Frost’s, My November Guest, my heart reveals a morsel of what our world may be experiencing.