IN GREEN PASTURES

So I am a poet, sure, and I knowit!

And what is wrong with that?

With Edgar Allan Poe as my hero,

Decidedly compact!

 

 

And skinny as a rail he was!

Scared himself to death!

That black cat as his enemy

Along with dying breath!

 

 

Then there is the guy who wrote the words,

“Though they lash me and flay me,

By the living God who made me you are

A better man than I am, Gunga Din!”

 

 

The words of a master.  No rhyme and no

Rhythm but with sound.

Rhythm is as a song, a song sung as

A whirling round and round!

 

 

As a verse I wrote so long ago,

“Take heed all ye wanderers,

Take heed and stay at home!

Be satisfied with what you have

And leave that swill alone!”

 

 

There I had it so long ago,

Or perhaps it had me!

Sounded so good with rhythm and such,

Perfect poetically!

 

 

But did it make sense?  Or just sound good

With rhyme and no reason there?

Thethought should be provocative!

As something a saint would share!

 

 

As the invitation, “Come unto Me

I will give you rest

All you weary and heavy laden.”

Accept now the best!

 

 

Then you can say, “Jesus satisfies!”

For certain! He is all I need!

Joy, peace, hope of Heaven above,

Meanwhile, in green pastures feed!

 

 

the Sam 11.25.11

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