Poetry

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When I opened the bill, it spelled my name
with letters written, out in big print
And as I checked the list of the times I called
no it wasn't, wrote out to sprint

You see, I do have my own telephone
it's recorded and stored up for me
The only charge I had was forwared to heaven
and the times I've put in pays the fee

I will not give out, of my free minutes
and let others use up it's time
The Lord gave it to me for to stay connected
and I have to use what is mine

It's good to know how to dial his number
no waiting to get through
And the only pass-word, you will ever need
is when his spirit is touching you

So to give that little time to talk with him
not a lot of words, but being sincere
And no matter how it sounds, thats all he expects
for it's the heart he wants to hear

Now not all the time the call will be answered
sometimes we will have to wait
And whatever the reason, he alone knows why
but, rest assure, he won't be late

So now keep your little notebook handy
let his number, be close-by
No fumbling or searching, just open the heart
his recorder had, picked up our cry

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