Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Stopping By Lent on a Pensive Evening

(With my deepest and most sincere apologies to Robert Frost)

Whose Lent this is I think I know.
His house is in the Heaven's though;
He will not mind me stopping here
To watch this Lent begin to grow.

My little brain must think it queer
To stop without a purpose near
setting aside chores I must partake
His presence coming ever near.

I give my weary head a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of restless thoughts and deep heartache.

This Lent is calling, dark and deep.
But I am afraid of the steep,
pathway upward that I seek,

And miles to go before I sleep.

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