My May Muse

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.

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