Worthless, crumpled little leaf—
Cast off without a care;
Set upon the listless wind,
Carried here and there.
You’re not but nature’s clutter
To disgrace a pristine lawn;
The only want we give you
Is we want you good and gone!
And the Lord within the Manor
Sees you only as a chore;
He’ll have to rake and bag you
Which is irksome all the more.
Conversion is needed in each generation;
For if Grandpa is filled with sure consecration
But Son vacillates with equivocation,
It can lead to Grandson’s full deviation.
God did not leave us to chance. Photo by Wendy van Zyl.
The Devil’s real,
And doesn’t rest;
So is God,
And God knows best.
Don’t give up. Photo by Gabriela Palai.
As you walk the lonely road. . .
Mile after mile
Without expected blessing,
This may be your trial.
But if you’ve done what you can
And still must wait awhile;
Don’t give up my faithful friend—
Delay is not denial.
Easter, yes, that holiday
That signals start of spring—
That marks rebirth, renewal,
And all that sort of thing.
It brings bouquets of flowers
In yellows, pinks, and blue,
And cheerful eggs that have been dipped
In dye of every hue.
Doing laundry is such a chore.
Sort the colors? I ask what for?
Then throwing whites with red and green,
I toss them all in the wash-machine.
But all my smugness turns to dread
When all the whites go tie-dye red!
What raises the crawling caterpillar
Above the common plain,
Allowing her to soar above
And lofty heights obtain?
Once Upon A Rhyme 