The funny thing with roses, they start as just a bud;
Some take so long to open, they seem like just a dud.
But no amount of wishing will make them open up,
Like no amount of wanting removed the bitter cup.
The Rose
Hope
Remember Him
I do always remember Him—
At work and play, home and gym
I do always remember Him—
Deliberate, consistent, not on a whim
I do always remember Him—
Now and still when eyes grow dim
I do always remember Him—
My heart, all pride, I strive to trim
I do always remember Him!
Potential
The breeze washing over me, from where does it come?
The passing bumblebee, how does it hum?
The chasing birds, how do they fly?
And why is it blue—the heavenly sky?
Redemption
Modified art from Harold Copping, Public domain.
Crimson sin, staining red;
Spotted soul, spiritually dead.
On the roadside, left to die,
Circling vultures in the sky.
Heaven’s Porch
I think I want a covered porch
On a big, ranch-style home—
Way out in the country
Where the horse and cattle roam.
Christmas for One
This Christmas I’m alone and single.
Sleigh bells ring with a hollow jingle.
The bells, you see, aren’t quite as fun
When they ring-ding-jingle just for one.
Christmas Needs
In your hurried holidays, do you hear the voice that pleads?
It comes from ancient ages, it tells what Christmas needs.
Crumpled Little Leaf
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.
No Works, No Wonder
The drought was getting serious,
The situation bleak,
And for the want of sustenance
The village was getting weak.
And the thing that was most needed,
On the hot and thirsty plain,
Was a life sustaining downpour—
A good old-fashioned rain.
All is Well
Another night, another week,
Dark and gray and even bleak
With snow and ice and bitter cold,
As Summer’s sun and warmth is sold
For Winter’s windy, chilly blast,
That seems to last. . .
And last and last.
Once Upon A Rhyme 