Poetry

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When the working is all over and the seeds are planted too,
Then I’ll be traveling home sweet Lord to sit and rest with you.
The men of this world are impatient at best.
They cannot find peace and they’ll never have rest!
What they see is understanding; information is their god.
Never hearing or perceiving as they give the world a nod.
What can I say about them that you haven’t already said?
If they would turn you’d heal them and they’d rise up from the dead!
As it is they lay there empty in the throws of pain and death.
Remembering everything they said and every worthless breath.
So now I look to you my God and praise you once again.
For all the things you’ve done through me because I got to see them!

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