The day stretches out to me like a child is standing on tiptoe, begging for my touch
It seems longer than a day, but a week
And I feel weak
And tired, tired but I know that people are depending on me
So I lean on God depend on Him so he can use me
I hold that day like a mother does for her child, although she wants to close her eyes and escape to dream land
Shedding work from her fingertips, dripping honeylike blood on the sheets
She doesn't want to wake up to the grind
But she does
I cradle that day and bury it in my breast and I smell the sweet smell
I would have to repeat doing this for the rest of the week
But once I hold that day in my arms it's all worth it.
Especially when God is splashed all over it.
I can do it. Weak, But I can get through this Week.