Poetry

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Well Lord I think I will call it a night
all spent out and I am through
Until you give me some more to write
until then, I'll wait for you

This vessel has been broken for your use
so I cannot throw in the towel
Want to keep it open so it can be filled
of the input that you allow

I try to add a little humor in this life
or I will dry up like a prune
Lord give me something to generate the soul
a few quirks to offset the gloom

My God is, a professor of language and script
he has a major in verbs and nouns
His knowledge goes beyond any philosophy
'O his wisdom is so profound

The more that I learn about the Lord
I guess I will never be through
For his joy keeps running through my soul
that nothing else will ever do

Open 'O ye gates which is the heart
let the King of glory come in
Let him impart his words of deliverance
rising of the sun and at days end

God will make real to those who seek him
he wants to be your King
Don't be satisfied with a little of him
let him give you everything

The Lord God he is the potter
and I am still the clay
So Lord do what you want of little O me
and be it night or be it day

Psalms 24;7 lift up your heads, O ye gates
be ye lift up; ye everlasting doors; and the King
of glory shall come in

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