i'm not sure how we got here
to these tents we call our own
but I'm glad for our direction,
for the time we have to loan
to one another,
every grace and patient word -
they chime, a choir of reminders,
of the home we head toward.
there are tunes when hearts be heavy
even when the load be light,
though we know the day is dawning
and that soon means no more night
or grief or pain or tears -
for the broken that we bear
will lift and, like the dawn of spring,
pave steps to summer air.
but the melodies most precious,
tucked away when volunteered,
are the joyful, holy keepsakes
from the days with little fear
of want, distraction,
insecurity of soul -
songs are sweetest, fullest, loudest
when they quietly sing you whole.
