The Second Book of Inspirational Poetry byIrene Beales
A new poem will be shown each time you visit this page.
My mind slips back
And in fancy I see my Father,
Hear again the whetstone -
As it slips from side to side
On the blade of the scythe.
"A tinkling sound ".
And the swish of the blade
Which lays the grass prostrate -
In rows - wilting and dying
Severed from its source of life.
God often uses His scythe
To teach us some great lesson.
Like the grass - we feel mowed down
And of our very life
We seem to lose our grasp.
'Tis only with continued cutting and care
That a beautiful lawn is prepared,
And in time instead of grass
It looks like a thick green carpet
Of the highest class.
So in our lives - God uses His scythe,
We feel desolate and bleeding
As the lesson we learn -
And Gods will discern
Thro much prayer and pleading.
Acceptable then are the soft warm showers
Of His love and healing grace.
To bring forth in us - the choicest flowers,
And a testimony - which shines forth
From a radiant face.
12/11/86 My Dad's Birthday