My Life, Is, But A Gift
My life is but, a gift, I unwrap it, everyday
With a blessing, I see, the sun rise and then
Again, I see the glorious, stars, in the sky
And see, as much as feel, the moon, smile at me
Sometimes, I feel, so sorry for myself, then I realize
The morning dew, delicate, beyond, a human touch
Softer than, when your are alone, and I feel a summer breeze
I feel, the blessing, come all over me, another day is done
I am, what I feel in my heart, I am the thunder bolt
I am the strength, of the raging storm, yet, still, I drift
From, the shelter of his arms, for, I have nothing else
Tell me, friend, from where, comes your strength
My Life, Is, Is But A Gift
Comments on this poem/writing:
|Terrie* (126.96.36.199) -- Tuesday, August 31 2004, 09:26 am|
the sun giving out its warmth, the romantic moon, the stars out late at night, the flowers blooming ,a calming sea, so many things , if one takes the time to notice all Gods gift to us,this is LOVE.. you are such a gift, many live many days and never notice a cloud that stands alone,as it carries it's own thoughts of the beauty into our own thoughts that move us, as we live and grasp at things that seem so far away, like a star ,up so high but yet we can see.and touch its beauty in our heart.. the whisper of a breeze all a part of his love for you and i from him, we cannot see the breeze but we can feel..caress our flesh...as we feel and love with our heart...thank you for the beautiful words that i can feel and carry throughout the day in my heart...
|Megan (188.8.131.52) -- Wednesday, September 1 2004, 06:13 am|
i love how you look at things , and how i look at things after reading what you have wrote.
|Martin Vann (184.108.40.206) -- Saturday, October 9 2004, 07:51 pm|
Terrie & Megan
I share my thoughts, sometimes, out of darkness, usually, when, I feel weak. Then I realize, to feel pity, I must be a live. What is more precious, than to reach up and say, Thank You Lord, for all the treasures, that lie before me, without your blessing of my life, I would never discouver them.
Megan, remember this, I write from my heart, yet, my heart is not mine nor more than my soul. So, don't thank me, and yet you do, I'm sure you understand, what I mean, as Terrie does.
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