Window to Thanksgiving
By David De Jong
Window to memories in a scant winter shed,
Forgotten dreams, collecting dust, like books unread.
Solitary panes silent throughout the day,
Gathering strength in measure for the midnight fray.
Battering storms, that nearly broke its frame,
Peeling off layers, exposing all its shame.
Rusted hinges that may never open again,
Separating; what is now, from what may have been.
Watching seedlings sprout, and grow to perfect height,
Creating new life, while basking and sharing the light.
Some encroaching branches come for closer view,
Others lie fallen and broken in earthen stew.
Though it appears dark, its inner core void of clear sight,
This feeble framed glass, still produces much light.
Warmth and glow, from filtered summer sun,
Silently cheering, another night won.
Its somber perch, peering the quaint valley below,
Showing growth from storms, even though the scars still show.
Asking no one its place or purpose in time,
Giving life its best, allowing true light to shine.
Just an old window, on a scant winter shed,
Reminisce a Savior, and the life He led.
The grace bestowed, on an old dark soul as mine.
Bringing growth from the storms, through His light divine.
Rays of hope, in an encumbered, heart stricken world,
Patiently waiting, victory flags to be unfurled.
Giving thanks; for His Life, His Death, His Gift,
That holds my heart, no longer cast adrift.