Humor

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My pen flows to the beat of a different drum,
so I dare not change tom-tom's now;
For the word tune that's given is not my own;
therefore, I cannot lay it down;
Though there be a many feather pens,
each having it's own flight.
But I must remain true to what I must inscribe,
for in my heart, I know it's right;
My Chief is watching my every stroke;
He is taking in my every move
and I must obey, seek nothing new,
knowing all my works He will prove.
My pen must be filled with love;
It must write with truth divine.
Also, to leave room for improvement
It must rely on God's thoughts, not mine.
I write about love in different forms,
about solutions, to ease hurts and pains
I write about children, out of concern,
for I've had my share of many torrid rains.
Now, at times my pen writes humor,
for even God knows how to smile;
So when it's done, to bring some cheer,
He allows that part of me to be a child.
It's funny how things will waken you,
so to be conscious in every way,
and I thank God above for letting me know
every feather pen has its own day.
I make no boast of being perfect,
But allow my pen to bring comfort and relief.
So, though my pen beats with a different tune,
the one who's holding it is Jesus, the Chief!

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