Blog Archives
My Prayer For You
May your travels be filled with wonder.
May yours days be warm and long.
May your eyes be filled with beauty.
May your heart be filled with song.
God bless you on your journey!
Praying
Poppy of Remembrance
Red paints the fields where the poppies grow
After the battles there long ago.
Warmed by sunshine, watered by tears,
They still bravely bloom to remember those years.
Our soldiers were sent to a foreign land
To fight out of deep trenches in making their stand.
They struggled hard to remain warm and dry in the mud, rain, and snow
When they fought the Kaiser’s army so long ago.
Little imitation poppies were sold in the millions back then
To support the war effort and our fighting men.
They’re deep red like the bloodshed on the mud and snow,
These beautiful red poppies in the field where they grow.
Take just a moment to think and reflect.
Take the time to offer a thank you prayer in respect.
Someone order champagne and quickly remove the cork.
Let’s toast our dough boys and our hero, Sergeant York.
They still grow in the fields of yesterday.
They stand in remembrance and still hold sway.
In yesteryear, these poppies played their part.
When you wear one, I hope it matches the poppy in your heart.
Cowboy’s Prayer
This comes from Autumn Leaves:
Now I lay me down to sleep
In open spaces
Lest I weep.
Saddle for a pillow,
Chaps for a spread,
Starlit canopy overhead.
And should I die
Before dawn’s break,
Thank you, Lord, for your fair shake.
Amen
Broken Dreams
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
It stands on a hilltop,
Abandoned, forlorn,
Weathered and beaten,
Shingles missing and torn.
What tales would it tell,
If talk it could?
Peeling paint clings
Precariously to ancient wood.
Its old warped floors
Probably knew tiny feet
Of children born there,
So cuddly and sweet.
Conversations crossed over
The old kitchen table…
Voices filled with hope,
And arms that were able.
With a heart full of prayer,
A bucket full of sweat,
They worked the land
The harvest to get.
No one left now
To toil on the land.
Tombstones out back
Mark the passing of man.
The old house now stands
Ramshackle, alone —
Its boards bleached out
Like a skeleton of bones.
A prayer holds it together
From breaking at the seams —
A monument to man
And his broken dreams.
wfosterwelborn 