Several weeks ago I shared with you how in every sense of the word, and amongst other things, my father was a Poet. He loved to write about his passion for the Sea and the deep love he had for his family. Most often though he wrote about his faith.
The ravenous effects of Dementia are quickly stealing away tiny bits of my father's mind. I struggle sometimes to understand why a loving, merciful God could allow such things...but then, God is GOD and I am not God. So, I've concluded I'm not suppose to understand the things that are beyond my understanding.
Willingly (although with obvious struggle), I no longer try.
Today I can only say now how I wish this cup had passed from him...
This morning I came across a lovely little poem my Father penned when he was not quite 22 years old. Thirty years after it was first written an old friend returned to him the only copy in existence. Although he was vocal about it's simplicity and questionable meter, I begged him to include it in the handwritten keepsake book he gave to me many years ago.
I lovingly share a copy of it with you today.
I gaze out 'ore the valley
The rolling verdant hills
And tell myself 'what a beautiful dream'
God had to make it real
I look up at the castles
Of the clouds there in the sky
And tell myself no man made thing
Graced so the human eye
Then there is the sunlight
I see through the window pane
Or the darkened clouds evicting
The jewelery of the rain
I also see the flowers
Dressing up the land
With colors that are laughing
At the futile cities of man
God, our Father in Heaven
Show us all the Light
To see such beautiful things as these
That help make life alright.