It never comes.
A guest, children, laundry,
these swallow up my best hours
until I,
have to rest
(to my disgrace).
But sometimes, here and there,
I don’t command,
the waves retreat;
cool air,
brief stillness, and
God shoulders all my cares.
This time is grace.


©2002 Thrive

View the original print magazine where this article was first published.