"Father," I pray as I walk along,
"give me the words that would flow like a song.
A poem of promise, of hope and of love
that would focus lost sinners on You up above....
The moon's shining bright from behind an oak branch,
but it's cold here tonight on my little old ranch.
I'd be so happy if I was a tree,
for they stand much taller, much taller than me.
Their tops are much closer to Heaven I know,
and they just get closer, the more that they grow.
There's no clouds in the sky - but if so, they would be
singing joyously - being close to thee.
The stars in the sky seem much brighter tonight.
They must be so close they can see Heaven's light.
The gold, alabaster - the pearls and brass
I bet shine like prisms from diamond-like glass.
Oh to get closer, to Heaven - one peek....
would give me the thoughts that could make these words speak.
The sights would bring words and to earth I would bring
the poem of poems - itself it would sing.
But here I stand in the shivering cold,
a mindless numb man who was late getting old.
So here, down on earth, I'll perform every task,
and faithfully do everything that You ask.
I know that these people will not have a clue,
because this small poem cannot describe You.
So quickly this world forgets who You are,
They miss (as they're sleeping), the bright Morning Star.
I know that the God of Love's heart had to grieve,
when Heaven's gates opened to let Your Son leave -
to die on a cross that folks want to ignore,
despite the plain fact that their souls are at war.
Because of God's grace and by faith I believe,
You're the Great Poet and I know You'll not leave.
You live deep within so I know I can start -
for the greatest of poems come deep from the heart."