Saturday, June 21, 2008


In the Autumn of my life it's a hill that I see;
To others a huge mountain it seems to be.

We are in shadow, black figures in the dark,
Moving upward with few eyes on the mark.

Some are stalling, sitting, resting, sleeping,
Others are beaten, backtracking and weeping.

Yet many move on and upward no matter the cost
Supporting others who otherwise might be lost.

At the top of the mountain is a brand new day,
Where the sun shines brightly holding me sway.

I see the mountain is only a hill and no more;
What once was, no longer holds store,
Past work is no longer a chore,
Peace blesses the core.
Rest, my soul, the job is done;
Look, He's coming, the Son,
For the little soul He has won.

© Mel Patterson, 6-21-08

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