Winsome Woo

The magnitude of the snow-majesty we are enjoying is impossibleto capture with a camera-lens! It rouses within a winsome woo words cannot capture quite... Now woos a winsome sense of blues. Of golds and grays and greensImpressionistic avenues woven through wafting scenesOf unfurled hues of joy and strife’s herculean highs and lowsWhere morn to eventide rolls rife with all that life bestowsAnd season-song cuts like a knife where so-long ebbs and flows The catalyst to letting go can shield us from the sumOf touch and taste and holding’s holy showdowns yet to comeWhere youth soon dons truth’s tinges; it is futile to rebelWhere summer’s flashy fringes deck the halls of autumn’s knellWhere hello always hinges to the framework of farewell Because beginnings always end and ‘end’ always beginsNow woos a winsome sense of friendship through what always thinsTo Old Year almost over where the New Year waits to spillBoth knee-deep dell of clover and steep, courage-honing hillNew worlds yet to discover and blank pages yet to fill Now woos within the stark, dark imminence of vast unknownsA sense of golds and blues that mark the ‘Thence’ of SteppingstonesThat ultimately lead toward That Single CertaintyOf face-to-face with Christ the Lord and of eternityThus, therefore, no one can afford to ignore what will be Where we are lavished with what slips through fingertips with easeTo leave behind the winsome fellowship of memoriesWhere heartstrings bind the ties of love, of hope and hunger tooAround impressions of a glove filled with the winsome wooOf what is never quite enough of love’s green-gold-gray-blue © Janet Martin