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Perhaps we have grown too accustomed to
A little wheat in our bowl
A little wine in our glass
Bread on the table, not merely the crumbs
And every so often the rains as they pass
Perhaps we have grown too accustomed to
Filling our mouths
Instead of our souls
And we need to be reminded Who
Loves us beyond our heaping bowls
Perhaps we’ve come to expect His gifts
And don’t really offer
The thanks that we should
And as the fields crease, hardened and parched
Will our worship cease or will we cry God is good?
Perhaps true thanksgiving springs not from full hands
But in the drought
As we pray and we plead
Perhaps our praise is anemic and bland
As we eat, never sifting our need from our greed
Perhaps we have grown too accustomed to
Eating and sleeping
With unbowed head
And hearts that never fully pause
To thank the Lord for daily bread
© Janet Martin
Then Jesus declared, "I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty. John 6:35
The need for rain is foremost in many minds right now...
"never sifting our need from our greed" - Good one!
ReplyDeleteMy prayers are with you for rain.
TUG, a sincere thank-you~
ReplyDeletethat line jumped out at me too...how I've blurred that line at times.
ReplyDeleteYou have a knack for penning poems of thankfulness. Well done!
ReplyDeleteLucy, thank-you too:)
ReplyDeletePL, the true secret is not only writing it but breathing it and that is where I too often fail...Thank-you so much for your kind words.
ReplyDelete