by The Highland Shepherd's

THESE FOUR

Faith, hope, love, these three. But where is “courage”?
These four? Did Saint Paul presumed its presence?
For my advancing years bring fright with age;
disturb! Uncertain where one goes from hence.
One drifts more quickly, hears Niagara’s roar
waves spume into one’s boat, out of control
now flashing by shore not seen before
t’wards an unwanted, an unwelcome, goal.
The time of faith and hope and love is past.
Courage alone can keep the spirit firm,
can stay the course until it ends, at last,
mortality’s inconsequential term.
Courageously one drops into the race
Will not God’s hand lift from death’s drowning place.

Poems from the Eighth Decade
Copyright © Harold Macdonald 2004 used with permission

Harold Macdonald Poetry