BRANDON WISCONSIN RR-2 ZIP-53SI3
Our faithful writer for the Ladies Page tells us she is too ill
to write her column and sent along a few of her poems this time we
hope you will enjoy them. (Also, we pray you will have a speedy
recovery Mae, your writings are so interesting and touch each of
us. We appreciate you when we have your words each issue, and we
miss you at times like these. Anna Mae.)
MAN BUILT A WORLD
Man built a world, a science-crowned creation.
Each nation, and each city, raised their throne with pride;
The pity of their arrogance. They never asked
If man should be so triune-tasked when God was at his side for
‘0 well,’ the heady and high-minded surely said,
‘This kind of thinking should be damned and dead.
Why should religionists still whine, ‘Is It God’s
And thus, sophisticated, end exacting quest
To give their lone and nauseating best Of nothing, stuffing down
their rancid pills
Now piously they quote, ‘If God so wills
The world will be destroyed,’ and falling back
They call their ‘will of God’ a heart attack.
CREDO – CENTURY TWENTY
Why should I delve
And that disturbingly
Into the joy of soul simplicity
When I have love,
When I have peace,
When I have joy?
Why from the meated bone
Should I destroy the marrow
Which is my very life?
I have seen too many sleek furs
And jeweled throats
Too many men of distinction
Who belie the empty heart,
Too many painted masks
Facing my rural pity.
Can you shout joy
With all your suave sophistication
Can you run, fortified
Into eternal day?
God’s hand lies open
His forgiveness flows
Into the broken penitential heart.
Why close the pearl-foundationed
Priceless door Of waiting grace?
I LOVE THE FARM – BUT –
How elementally conditioned
Are my two blue eyes
Through being blinked to action
Lest the sun arise
Before my dandruffed lashes
Struggle into wakefulness.
With sighs of ardent repetition
I present the days of petition
To my zippy, stalwart farmer
While he’s eager, morning zested,
I feel Oh, so under-rested . . .
I say, ‘Darling, is it morning?
Can’t we sleep a little longer?’
He wins out And I’m a Dawner, Droopy-eyed.