Photograph by Martha Gaston Taylor. Blogger used PhotoGrid to add photographers name.
Dance of the Fog Ballerinas
I’ve sat and watched the sun rise over fog clad woods,
And pastures, wrapped in gauzy draperies.
The mist lifting gracefully from the Valley, in dance,
Thousands of prima ballerinas moving in perfect romance.
The performance itself, like the greatest grand prize,
Slowly becoming more magnificent than the mountaintop,
Except the sun promises to evaporate the performance away,
As it rises higher, burns brighter, lights up the day.
Look, can you see even now the big barn?
Where a minute ago it was hidden, totally veiled in mist,
It is now a solid object and the gray – clad ballerinas exit,
And astride this horse is now where I should sit.
This is home, this land, this family, this place,
God’s trusted it to us to care for by His grace,
But the ache in my heart I realize with time,
Is for the Heaven and New Earth, guaranteed to be mine.
If my name is written in the Lamb’s Book of Life,
Then my citizenship is planned as truly as Christ lives,
Now before the dance comes to an end,
You still have time to ask Jesus in, as Savior, Lord and friend.