A broken globe, Around it goes, My view is thin But all within Still skylines bring delight, As faithful ’round we go, Each day the sun to raise And set in painted blaze. The mountains ever stand And trees with lifted hands Blotch them all in yellow Patches, then the

They say “Stage four, There’s not much more To do for you.” “A pack of pills Prolong your ills, We’ll numb the pain, But not much gain Under the sun Is left. Just run… Your best.” “My best?” you say, “Is this the way All sputtering To go? Say No.”

Doubtful hours Proved by wilted flowers When they scattered Petals, like hopes shattered Hours lasting Years, too many, stashing Up with fears too Heavy, petals that grew. There is a face That darkness can’t erase, Though rain obscure, But always it is pure. Stems stark and bare Stand brave, remember

“Satan has asked” (May it be abhorred!) “Satan has asked,” Now draws his sword. “To sift.” What does he seek To keep? And what to throw away? “As wheat.” Cast to the threshing floor Or to with flail beat. “But I have prayed,” (May that be weighed!) This must mean

I hope you will enjoy this poem by George Herbert, who lived from 1593-1633. I suggest reading it twice, as the first time lends a powerful shock, and the second reading brings richer understanding. Redemption Having been tenant long to a rich lord, Not thriving, I resolvèd to be bold,