There's a gypsy in the heart of me,
that wants to run the road;
a vagabond is lurking there,
to the fields, my heart's been sold.
There's a restless soul that's yearning,
to wonder at the wild;
a carefree, urging spirit,
of an enchanted child.
There's a ***** inside my blood,
that never will be still;
to hear and see all nature,
until I've had my fill.
There's a traveler in my mind,
who hears the seashore's song;
to walk along the beaches,
to escape the cities throng.
There's a gypsy in my musings,
that clamors for the highway;
ever searching, ever seeking,
an endless, nameless byway.

Mud and snow, block the path,
we slow, and find our way;
the sun is bright, the skies so blue,
are the reasons that we stay.

Darkened pines obscure the view,
of snow-capped peaks far off;
we dodge the rock strewn trail,
puddles shine, like brownish broth.

Then, the hillsides open up,
a thousand feet, above the road;
the highway is a serpent,
through the mountain's fold.

The air up here is pure and clean,
it rejuvenates the being;
the soul is stirred by visions,
of the beauty we are seeing.

We hike until we're tired,
though our weariness is nice;
for this time and for this moment,
this walk...   it will suffice.

At rest, with sunshine on my face,
I feel it stretch across my cheek;
warm, with Spring's approaching grace,
it pleasures me, this day, this week.

My soul's at peace, with honeyed air,
I bask contented, my worries, nil;
I've no troubles and I've no care,
the morning's splendid, calm and still.

How very sweet to be; satisfied with life,
relishing the moments, in synch with mood;
free from hurt and pain and constant strife,
no depression, no sadness; no need to brood.

It's such relief, to set aside  my weary anger,
the burden now, has left this grateful heart;
with it, I was always on the edge of danger,
how glorious it is, to see its rage depart.

What is this source, that brings me to this end?
it's faith in God and in His blessed Son;
knowing Him, has taught me how to mend,
knowing that the battle I have fought, is won.

Birds chirp at dawn's break,
their varied voices sing;
for the rising of the sun,
for what the day will bring.
Light becomes the norm,
as shadows fast recede;
the fish come to the top,
of waters, where they feed.
The night is all forgotten,
with blessed, restful sleep;
our pulses quicken motion,
our energy begins to seep.
The best of time is morning,
the hope that springs eternal;
that started at our birth gift,
of a being called...maternal.
Made in God's great image,
like the Father and the Son;
to all things, give Him glory,
as our human race is run.

Be faithful until death,
and you'll gain a crown of life;
overcome the obstacles,
that unfold as pain and strife.
You are made of sterner stuff,
to praise and honor Christ;
to suffer persecution,
with each throw of the dice.
There's a better world awaiting,
after ours comes to an end;
there's a new earth in the making,
around the final bend.
Hold fast to all its promise,
the deaf will hear, the blind will see;
the sun will shine on everyone,
in the new eternity.
Every knee will bow to Him,
the sinner and the saint;
take heart to wait that day,
never worry, never faint.

Please...leave us the hell alone!
we don't want democracy;
take away your so-called pride,
and your,  morality!
You claim to be a Christian,
but God's not in your schools;
you cannot say a public prayer,
the state, not church, it rules!
You say we are intolerant,
of what we will accept;
but we don't share your values,
(some secrets are best kept!)
What matters to you most?
we tend to say...it's money;
you claim that we are "backward,"
you think our ways are "funny."
But our God is not mocked,
the wages of sin...it's death;
so keep your "morals" to yourself,
and your lying, stinking, breath!

50 million choices silenced,
by the scalpel and the knife;
inside, growth has stopped,
outside, there is no life.
Boys and girls, together,
now perish, in the womb;
once it was a  sanctuary,
now,   it's just a tomb.
They will know no laughter,
they will know no tears;
no loving, smiling faces,
no memories of years.
Mother did not want them,
so they were discarded;
thrown away. like garbage,
before the birth had started.
50 million voices,  silenced,
a life flushed down the drain;
the reasons,  brushed away,
in a nation -  we call sane.