THE TAPESTRY
or Why Webb was Called Home
My life is but a tapestry between my Lord and me,
He's building up a pattern that is hard for me to see.
Sometimes he weaves in sorrow, and I, in foolish pride
Forget that He sees pattern, but I, the other side.
Not 'til the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unfold the canvas and I'll see the reasons why
The dark clouds are as needed, in the Weaver's wondrous plan
As the threads of gold and silver from his ever faithful hand.
So even as the tear drops fall, look up and seek his way,
So you can know his strengthening hand is with you every day.
He will not fail or falter, He'll always do what's right,
All He asks of you, dear friend, is to keep him in your sight.
Now here is a piece of my normal fluff. Another neighbor was hospitalized
and I did this quickie for
him:
I thunk and thunk(*)
and did conclude
that you should be
quite well imbued
with Get Well Thoughts
and dirty jokes
from neighbors, friends
and sim'ler folks
I can do naught
but scratch my head
and press a rabbits food
instead -
and make a wish
that very quick -
you will come home
no longer sick!
Take head, dear friend,
and hasten home
Else you'll be stuck
with another pome !