MY STUMBLING PEN

My stumbling pen spills not the wealth I feel

Striving to find a way into the light;

Such treasures as my soul longs to reveal

Lie buried in the deep subconscious night.

How frequently a fleeting inward glance

Detects a glimmer of elusive lode,

And I rebel with each escaping chance

To mine a thought and coin it in an ode.

Oh surely since I know the vein is there,

I cannot be content until I find

A way to reach the distant regions where

Those golden thoughts are waiting to be mined;

And should a nugget tumble from my pen,

I'll tap the treasury again, again!

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GOD IS THERE

Today the sky was tall and wide,

But when the evening came

I watched it bending near to spill

A mass of scarlet flame.

Then as it burned across the west

I breathed an humble prayer;

Since beauty was so manifest

I knew that God was there.

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I know a friend whose life is tall

As that sky was today,

Who bends to spill the flame of love

Along a hardened way;

A life as colorful and warm

As sunset tinted air,

And as I watch it glowing, Oh,

I know that God is there.

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OUR LITTLE LIVES

When night plows purple furrows

Or day dawns, washed and clean,

When fields of grain are bending

Or lightening flares supreme;

When rainbows arch the airways

Or flaming comets fall,

I marvel that God should bother

With our little lives at all.

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NONE SHALL FALL

I stopped to watch a tuft of cloud

That scudded through the sky,

And suddenly I saw a small

Grey feather wafting by.

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I looked about with eager eyes,

But no bird was in sight;

Could he have fallen to the ground?

But then, I read last night

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That not one falls upon the ground

When God is unaware.

I also read that on our heads

He numbers every hair!

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If God is with each downy bird

That flits from cloud to tree,

And we are more than sparrows, Oh

How safe, how safe are we!

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