By Abigail Leigh
One day, He’ll tell me
No chance to gather my years
To pack up relationships
To sign across the line
It will be a day
Begun just as others
Then, with trumpet sounded
Clouds will be parted
The vineyard master reappearing
My tenancy expired
By herald hastened
I’ll climb the hill
Blow out my lamps
Look upon entrusted fields below
The ones promised—tomorrow
Still to plow, unripened now
“Too busy!” my plea
Preparing to be busy
Shall reap solely season-sown futility
“Too worried!” my apology
Worrying what worry was left unworried
Shall inherit merely misused opportunity
“Too distracted!” my confession
Digging up the next distraction
Shall unearth but poor-stewarded possession
“Too perceptive!“ my rationalization
Perceiving perceivers’ possible perceptions
Shall produce not proper-planted attentions
Days of cultivation and harvest
Threshed before Him
What have they to say--
A seedbed left un-watered?
A garden tended half-hearted?
A branch, by thorns, overgrown?
A foundation without Cornerstone?
What fruit have I to give
To the One whom I now beg—forgive?
Only pray by grace, for this empty plate
There still may be a place
Set at the table of my Heavenly Host.
Abigail Leigh is a harpist and poet from Oregon. As a self-proclaimed paradox, both a creative and analytical being, she draws inspiration from life's dichotomies: the belief that light and darkness, growth and decay, and joy and sorrow travel in tandem. Every season has a story to tell, and she writes because she is committed to unveiling truth from learned experiences. Her poetry has been published in Darling Magazine, Black Fox Literary Magazine, Equinox Biannual Journal and Clayjar Review.
Abigail's other work on Foreshadow:
A Deeper Calling (Poetry, October 2022)
The Mountain Sermon (Poetry, October 2022)
Related work on Foreshadow:
The Parable of the Talents (Poetry by Bill Ayres, April 2022)
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