Prairie Flowers

When sunshine falls upon a spread
Of yellow prairie flowers,
It fills me with that silent peace
That graces morning hours.

The sunshine and the flowers, each,
Impress my mind and sight,
But one without the other tells
The tragedy of light.

To see a mother fondle child,
One nuzzle to the other,
Dispensing freely of the love
That touches every mother,

Is like the sunshine on a spread
Of yellow prairie flowers,
That blends its silence into peace
That graces morning hours.

Pearls

The poet must swim in the sea of his heart
To scour its bed for the pearls of his love,
And string them in verse that will let him depart
The dark of his soul to the light up above.

But he who recites from the Word of his Lord
Immerses his heart in an ocean of Light,
Illumines the world with the pearls that afford
Us a glimpse of a life of eternal delight.

A Poem

A poem can be a fancy way
To say a thing well known;
A thing that when presented plain
Is not attention prone;

To take a thought mundane and make
It sweet, romantic or
Just fascinatingly astute,
Is what a poem is for.

And seldom can it cause you pain
That makes you frown or curse,
Digesting thoughts that don't constrain
The words that make them verse;

Like sitting in a carriage that
Is led by handsome steeds,
Unbridled, wont to gallop at
Unregulated speeds.

But if you chance upon a poem
You cannot understand,
Extending it the courtesy
Of silence would be grand.