I knew the tumble was rough,
One long and constant rodeo
Of the too much and not enough.
I knew the coast was never clear,
One strandline of sea debris
In winter wind, in air austere.
I know tomorrow warmth will come,
Some rays breaking over foreign clay,
Rocks giving way to the rising Sun.
Your mercy, new every day.
I wail against the howling winds.
I know none can hear, not myself,
But I flail anyway, now and then.
I bury today like it didn’t exist.
I throw all my chips on red, on the hope
Your Hand will ever persist.
I know tomorrow the day wakes warm,
Another chance to redeem the time,
Another chance to weather the storm
That takes Your grace and makes it mine.