This flight of fantasy will soon be fact
Yesterday’s triumph soon exhausts its thrill
To moments carving fresh modes of attack
Where morning wends its way across the hill
We trace the outline of our hopes and dreams
Sketching them on the pleasure of a thought
Before the disarray of maudlin schemes
Jars with the javelin of life’s despot
This easy flight of moments jolts our flesh
The measure of a memory probes the air
Where fantasy and faith and fact enmesh
In imminence of laughter or despair
The folly of our fumbling arrogance
Is not enough to render peace at last
Within the vertex of a moment-glance
Present annuls the future to the past
And lest the fear of it derides our faith
We would do well to reach for Mercy’s rod
Remembering ‘tis He who leads the way
As we go thence, but by the grace of God
© Janet Martin
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