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Inspirational Poems
BE AT PEACE

 Being There
 

The Fruitful Land

In Spring the garden produces new growth.
Over years each plant produces offspring.
No seed, bulb, or new shoot is unimportant.
All have a special purpose in the garden.
They don't all grow at the same rate.
They aren't all the same colour.
In fact, some have a rather dull hue.
None 'grow' unnoticed.
There is quality to please the eye.
A quality to comfort the heart.
Perhaps some won't behold this beauty.
Nor take notice of it's fragrance.
Or pay heed to the garden, do not despair.
There is one who sees the fruit growing.
The land, is the garden of your heart.
Some fruits are more dominant than others.
All are evolved to the extent they are to be.
He who sees and blesses created this garden
In your heart, The Fruit in Your Land.
The 'He' is God.

Ellen Marie Parker

Copyright ©2002 Ellen Marie Parker



 
 
 

There For My Friend

Even tho my friend lives so very far away

My friend is in my thoughts, in my heart

And is very much a part..... of me.

When needed I will always be there

If all I have to offer is comfort and prayer.

If I want to bring joy, laughter I employ.

If my friend is to go on living

Then solace I must be giving.

Sharing my friends sorrows and happiness too

There's ever so much more I can do.

With a warm embrace I can show love's face.

I can wipe away a tear, help subside any fear

Always being there for my friend is best

When I have done all that I can,

I ask God to take care of the rest.

Ellen Marie Parker

Copyright ©2002 Ellen Marie Parker



 
 
 

Remembrance and Poppy • In Flanders Fields

In Flander's Fields

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead.

Short days ago we lived,

Felt dawn, saw sunset glow

Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

In Flanders Fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw the torch;

Be yours to hold it high.

If you break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders Fields.

John McCrae

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