Poetry

---

I'm so tired of my bosom's cold
   I have had since mid-Spring.
My folly left me frail and old;
   destroyed by my own sting.

I then remembered the warmth of Grace,
   everlasting Spring of the Lord.
I feared never seeing His good face;
   Hope seemed empty as a gourd.

My weeping was heard as if prayers;
   my head was lifted up toward the Sun.
Melting away were frozen fears;
   again with Him, I am one.

My joy's renewed through repentance;
   it is Summer, here in my heart.
I'm delighting in my obedience
   Winter has failed, once torn apart.

I can keep Summer in my heart,
   mixing it with His promise.
The rains of grace come to impart
   the nature of the Lord, who is Jesus.

© Bob Barra, 12-19-2012

---

PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE AS A MEMBER OR VISITOR