The very shape of you is like a miracle to me
A cup to hold the morning dew or Jack Frost filigree
A startling revelation etched against November gray
Where you relinquish remnants of what buds beget in May
A harp in summer’s hand, a parasol for lilting lark
A wonderland of flowers held in palms of twig and bark
A grandstand filled with whispers while the whole world lies asleep
The wing that wakes the wooded citadel so dark and deep
You come in sundry shape and size; even a child is drawn
Into your autumn-paradise of leaf-embellished lawn
We never get fully enough of little you, alas
Like all of life the air is rife with what must come… to pass
Last night was one of those nights when I began to question whether I am really doing what God wants me to do; write poetry. It takes time, head-energy, time, prayer, time and yet something/Someone in me compels me to write, write, write...poetry!
But last night some Thing weighed on me…hard, like only negativity, discouragement and doubt can do and I began to pray 'Lord, is this really what You have called me to do or am I missing what You want ‘cause I’m writing...poetry? Oh, God, I really need to know. Can You send me a sign, a clear sign of what You want me to do? I will not write until I know from You what Your answer is. Amen.'
…then, from the nightstand I picked up a book I purchased last week at a local thrift-store entitled Lines to Live By. I flipped through it wondering where to begin to read this compilation of poetry and prose.
I know, I thought, why not start on the very first page; the Preface…I began reading then began to weep; it was like God was right there in the room talking to me…reassuring me that it's okay to write yes, even about a little leaf...
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Preface written by Clinton T. Howell