by Ken Sehested
A note from a dear friend—hospital-bound, IV-fed, on New Year’s Eve and in the isolation ward, no less—
accompanied by a gray landscape photo from her window, inspired an impromptu poem
which captures my emotions in the haggard season in which we live.
The colorless days spur us to stir memory’s store
of rainbowed visions from days past, when the
chords of Delight came freshly to our ears,
cheers chanted, hopes planted, grace granted
in astonished harmony announcing enmity’s
rupture and every heart’s destined, disarmed
gladness. Beneath the soil of grayed days and
clouded sighs lies the Promised Seed whose
reach through trampled ground and bloodied
debris awaits the thaw of clawed hands and
brittle feet. Blessed Assurance, however
embattled, shall not forever be constrained.
Oh, restore in us a foretaste of Glory Divine!