Oh my, how the days pass and shift
Not solid like something of earth,
But gauze and sound and mist.
Abstractions and attempts.
Of great importance, yes, but not
Solid enough to know they've not been missed.
To parent, to pastor, to husband
Is to have projects always unfinished.
There can be no drinking from those wells,
But only from the one marked,
Child of God
A Sheep of his pasture
A Sinner of his redeeming.