Pass Away

The fog that shrouds a quiet street
and touches Monday's gloom
with ordinary mystery
will burn away by noon.

These dandelions lift their face
to watch returning flocks
'til other flowers take their place
and breezes blow the clocks.

Like anger surging in the blood
or this deep-set despair,
the sudden rushing of flash floods,
the storm that clears the air:

This henbit gazing at the sky,
lets loose its purple tongue
to sing of praise and then to die—
so all our songs are sung.

This is our sorrow and our joy:
All things shall pass away
except the dim and distant morn
that whispers lasting day,

and it will bud a rising sun 
and blossom into noon
and sing while endless ages run—
O, Lord, may it be soon!

Henbit Nashville, Tennessee By Kaldari - Own work, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8640496