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You want me to do what? I asked.
I fear I must confess:
That poems aren’t my genre,
No, they’re not what I do best.
We use words to communicate
The deeper truths of Love
Yet as I pen this verse
I fear God’s laughing from above.
It’s not all seriousness and toil,
Oh yes! I’ve heard the rumor:
Beyond saving the universe,
God has a sense of humor.
He sets me down to write this thing,
Though I lack skill or time.
(In poems I just do angry verse
Or Dr. Seuss-type rhyme.)
My background comes from reading stuff
To kiddies at bedtime.
I fear I cannot rise above
That meter or that rhyme.
Or how can God give joy and save
With angry, outpoured feeling?
Or use it to convey truths of
Relationship and healing?
I’m only human and I know
Not everything’s my gift.
If He wants me to do this,He'll have
To help me bridge across that rift.
O! This vessel’s cracked and
Seriously lacks the mastery or pith,
So I guess He’ll chuckle and make
The best of what He’s working with.
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