My word, that poem said it all! It captured thoughts divine,
It poured out blessings to recall as if God's Valentine.
As if God spent an hour or two, then called a poet near,
To listen to His point of view and then to make it clear.
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Oh, come, now, do you need to ask,
As if without a clue,
For something that's so small a task,
You don't know what to do?
...
My poetry is good, in fact,
It's really, really good
And I don't care how folks react
If that's not understood...
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Be patient as you read my thoughts,
Compressed upon this page,
In contrast to all known reports,
This poet's come of age...
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He stands against the fiend, the foe,
The guardian with his ring,
To fashion energy's great flow
To do what it must bring...
...
The child looked up with longing eyes,
One dream still pining for,
Not old enough and not yet wise
To even know the score...
...
If God wants poems to be shared,
Then surely they must be,
To help each heart that has despaired
Through wholesome poetry,
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He quoted Jesus every day, each morning, noon and night,
Each time he knelt and chose to pray, each time he gained insight.
He wore a golden cross as well, he studied Scriptures, too,
He thought he'd never go to Hell while Heaven stayed in view.
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When is a poem a poem,
When sharing truths sublime,
When answering the poet's whim,
Compressed complete in rhyme?
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I stood before the languid lake,
So calm yet deadly still,
Remembering one day's mistake,
That caused my thoughts to chill…
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