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In the budding of my flowering
poetic spring,
I know I have but few blossoms
yet to bloom
And as I sit here with warm words
to yet sing
Let them be as old goodies playing
in this room;
And may your heart and spirit brightly
glow
With wise words from this pen’s anxious
flow:-
Oh, to God be the precious
glory
For the gifted words given
to me
For your soul to absorb and
feel
His holy healing in punning
visionary—
Flowing free from the spinning
word-mill
Blowing avid locutions from His
healing field:-
