What song shall I sing for my mother? What key?
Which chords own the notes that will set her joy free?
Was psalm ever born that could raise her hopes high
as the million bright stars she has hung in my sky?
My mother taught me how to play
each note to form a song.
She showed me how to hold the bow
and keep my down stroke strong.
Charity is love, pure love…
a sacred gift from up above
that brightens every day we live,
empow’ring us to lift, forgive
and serve each other, come what may,
in Jesus Christ’s appointed way.
April showers bring May flowers
(nature goes to work)
May blooms bring June prom-night rooms
(parents go berserk)
Leather sandals, dusty feet,
soles worn out in service.
Lessons taught, lessons learned;
stilled souls waiting, nervous.
To bathe soiled feet was but a servant’s lot,
eschewed by men whose station lent them grace.
These did not stoop to take a lowly place,
nor pause to wonder if, one day, they ought.
I’m swinging on the happy tree,
in love with everything I see.
White, fluffy clouds and bright blue sky
reach out for me as I fly by.
If all your world is painted blue,
Then no one else can change your view.
No pretty words or handsome face
Will make your world a brighter place.