Lenten Poem
Think not how far we have to go,
how far we’ve come; it saps the strength,
melts the will. It’s better not to know
the breadth and height and length
of all that’s still ahead.
Who wants to learn one’s end?
What will be, what would have been - weigh like lead.
Past offenses change not, cannot mend.
Better to proceed by little steps
within your range; no sweat, regret, no strain;
blanking out dramatic heights and depths
the thought of chasms, rough terrain.
Time then to see God’s downward bending
to share the journey and the ending.
Poems from the Eighth Decade
Copyright © Harold Macdonald 2004
used with permission