Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Piercing rays of Sunshine Thawed the chill some And I shed my black cashmere scarf With subtle silver stripes, A birthday gift from ma, Dear departed, Who loved God And wanted to preach on Sundays Like Jimmy Swaggart Or Bennie Hin She'd write checks Of a thousand or more.... 'For The Lord,' she'd say 'They are doing The Lord's work!' And I smiled like the Saturday  morning sun Over Canarsie; My tearful tide had crested on Friday at sorrow's peak; And I stared at the clear blue heavens, Scanning the clouds For the smiling face of a new angel Who loved God And wanted to preach on Sundays Like Jimmy Swaggart Or Bennie Hin My grieving eyes soon  found A solitary bird, Wings askew  and waving, Dashing with childish glee Through the skies above... A whistling dove, Or skylark, Or perhaps the mariner's albatross; Her work on earth was done... 'Twas time to fly... In Paradise ~ P (#attf) 10/31/2013
0
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
A Time To Fly
Piercing rays of Sunshine Thawed the chill some And I shed my black cashmere scarf With subtle silver stripes, A birthday gift from ma, Dear departed, Who loved God And wanted to preach on Sundays Like Jimmy Swaggart Or Bennie Hin She'd write checks Of a thousand or more.... 'For The Lord,' she'd say 'They are doing The Lord's work!' And I smiled like the Saturday  morning sun Over Canarsie; My tearful tide had crested on Friday at sorrow's peak; And I stared at the clear blue heavens, Scanning the clouds For the smiling face of a new angel Who loved God And wanted to preach on Sundays Like Jimmy Swaggart Or Bennie Hin My grieving eyes soon  found A solitary bird, Wings askew  and waving, Dashing with childish glee Through the skies above... A whistling dove, Or skylark, Or perhaps the mariner's albatross; Her work on earth was done... 'Twas time to fly... In Paradise ~ P (#attf) 10/31/2013
james-g-paul-sr-aka-pablo
Written by
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem