Daydream

You are my daydream,

My wish.

Girlish dreams of love

That once floated through my mind

Have come to light upon my heart

And settle on thoughts of you.

All I have wanted,

Hoped with all my heart,

Wished with youthful fancy,

And prayed with mustard-seed faith,

Have come to be in one word:

Husband.

Now my dreams are more

Than sweet imagination.

They are prayers for us

Together.

Why Does God Send the Rain?

As I walked along the riverside,

            I praised the Lord

                        For His handiwork.

            It could be seen in all

                        That I surveyed.

The silver-blue glitter of water

            Rippling over rocks of gray.

                        Nature’s grassy carpet

            Of plush and vibrant green.

                        The warm colors of leaves

That glow in golden sunlight,

                        And cool colors

                        In fragile flowers—

            Pink and palest purple.

Soft, clean clouds that float

                        In fluffy clusters.

                        The mighty oak

That stands in majestic silence,

            And all creeping creatures

            That make the earth their home.

                        A melody of praise

To the glorious Creator of all.

                        And so I stood,

            Admiring all around me

            That I saw and heard;

                        And I felt peace.

                        Then,

The clouds of cotton white turned gray,

            And the water, too.

                        All color fled

            In advance of the storm

            That threatened even the oak.

                        When it came—

The winds howling louder than the bird-song,

            The rain beating the river,

The lightning shining as the sun once had—

                        I fled

            To the nearest shelter

            To wait for it to end.

                        All color

            Was washed away

            To pale imitations.

                        All sound

            Became confusing tumult.

                        And I wondered

            Why God would send the rain

When the sun was so much better,

                        Warmer,

                        Brighter,

            So easy to enjoy.

And surely the crash of thunder

            Could not be as pleasant

            As other sounds had been.

                        Why

            Does God send the rain?

            When the storm was over,

            And the clouds rolled back,

                        I stepped out

And once again surveyed the scene about me.

            Raindrops lay on leaves

                        And flowers

            Like shining, precious jewels,

                        And all colors

Were more fresh and vibrant than before.

            And the song of Nature

Was gentle once again, but now

            It had more meaning.

This new vitality of creation

            I saw and felt

                        And heard

            In a new way.

            Then I understood

                        That God

Had sent the darkening storm

            To wake the earth,

            To make it sing,

To clean and brighten all.

            And so He does with me

            When I need to wake,

                        To sing,

            To be brighter for Him.

Two Words

Only two words

So small

That I should say.

I know how much you need to hear them.

I can see it in your eyes

So full of pain

The hurt that I caused.

Oh, I am well aware.

You just don’t know it.

These small words

Are bigger than you realize

(To me)

And they are stuck.

Trapped by my stubbornness

My pride

My own self-doubt –

All large enough to trap

Two little words

And keep them from escaping my lips.

So you are left to read my mind.

Two words are all you want.

Not flowers or flirtation,

Playful charm

That ought to show love

But really

Only attempt to distract you

From the issue at hand.

It never works,

Yet I try it every time.

Until finally

I come to realize what I knew all along:

While my pride matters to me

Your feelings matter more.

So I move it all aside

And say it.

                I’m sorry.

Then all is well.

But You Say ...

This one calls me bright
Smart
Witty
Intelligent

That one says I'm efficient
A little worker bee

Another calls me kind
Affectionate
Loving
Compassionate

Their encouragement makes me soar.

But you say ...
I'm dumb
Slack and lazy
Selfish and prideful

Dozens of people are in my fan club
But yours is the voice I hear
That taps me on the shoulder and says
"You can't do that.  You'll fail."
And for some reason,
I choose to believe it.
And I am earthbound.

For Mr. Buble -- with appreciation and apologies

I heard about this Michael Buble poetry contest and thought I'd give it a try.  The contest announcement listed several facts about the crooner, none of which did I find especially insightful.  Then I remembered this story that he told from his teen years. Aha! I knew how to show my appreciation to the voice that makes chores a little less burdensome.  So I offer to you, my readers ...

Chores

In the heat of the summer sun
You swat a fly,
Draw a dusty arm across your brow
And push on,
Criss-crossing the yard
With that heavy mower.
All alone,
Except for Casey Kasem
To keep you company
By counting down the hits.
You sing along,
Dreaming of the day
When he’ll announce your name
At the top of the charts.

In the quiet of my kitchen
I fill a pail
With sudsy water
And criss-cross the floor
With this heavy mop.
All alone
Except for your voice
Keeping me company
By singing "Home."
I am content to sing along,
Grateful you had such a dream
And that you made it happen.