his light is my muse, air

becomes my eyes blinking

on his splendors.

I see the tall oaks shade like

his brush painting strength

on their roots and branches

like father time.

Mother spring brings blossom

in collage of hue, she swings her

skirt and they become flowers,

little hats and colorful blouses

swirling scent, the creator's gift

to us.

Outside my window his light is

my pen the eyes to his magnificent

beauty and sounds of nature.

And I thank him for blessing me

with the wonder of his muse.

by Louise Bartholomew

The Lord created you and you

and me

Invited us to share

eternity

Commanded us to love

each other

Not only self

Also brother

How do we this commandment keep?

Your choice

To have as your goal

Lip service or soul

And so, shall you reap!