Colin F. Jones

WHEN THE WEARY PLOD

From the past come stampedes of shadows,
Like black horses out of dust
Thundering through the aging mind
That has already begun to rust.
Reviving memories of every kind,
Nasty forgotten thoughts breaking through,
That bring a greater peace of mind,
Now they are accepted as being true.
All the walls are washed, the stains erased;
All the sinful thoughts expired,
Replaced by regret and fear of God,
For heaven is the place desired…
For where else will the weary plod
When their attendance is required.