Monday, October 12, 2015


The blueing of alfalfa
The golding of the bean
The swaying of the cornstalks
By country roads are seen.
The mounding of potatoes
The cabbage colonies
The checker of the Holsteins
The bursting apple trees.
The romping of the lambkins
The heron at the creek
The Clydesdales all in caramel
The nursing foals still weak.
The corduroy of planting
The auburn harvest yield
The splaying of the hay bales
A giant billiard field.
This banquet of the senses
A patchwork ‘neath the skies
Commending our Great Artist
Who looks with knowing Eyes.

Note: I live in a district where Mennonite farm wives pride themselves in their quilting stitchery. Perhaps they identify with the Lord of all beauty as they lay out their tables and frames, and go to work with colourful patches, needles and thread, singing as they collaborate.


Saturday, October 10, 2015

Sound Hope in the Bleating

Would to God
I knew the answers
Save you from this present pain
We are damp
And risking footing
Up this slope despite the rain.
I have watched you
Bow to others
While they butt and bleat out scorn
I have not
The plan nor power
To reverse such days forlorn.
But the Man
Up at the forefront
Knows the way to peace and rest
Once He held me
On His shoulders
Broke my leg to know His best
And for days
I sensed His heartbeat
Saw Him calmly help the flock
I will never
Stray rebellious
He has cleansed my hope and walk
And He will
So shepherd, help you
As you gain your dearest Friend
Truth, these wet
And woesome dark days
Count so little at the end.