Mary Ryan Poems

One Sunday morning I hurried on my way
And I arrived at my church ready to worship and pray
Then I saw a girl with blue-green hair
She walked away, not welcome there
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As the sun sets in a faraway land
A young soldier sits, a picture in his hand
His thoughts on his wife and child-a young family
And he prays every night that again he'll see
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You give me some paper and a new ink pen
And I’ll just let the words start to begin
But if it’s a picture from me you desire
To say it would be perfect would make me a liar
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Words of encouragement you gave to me
You touched my life and set me free
You saw the pain of loneliness I had
Even when I said “Fine”, you could tell I was sad
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The door is closed
Don’t look behind
The past remains
It is in your heart
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Kitten playing
With ball of yaarn
Stolen from my basket
Darn!
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When you sit alone, no one sees your tears
Your quiet weeping, no one hears
The pain you bear—no one can know
No one is close to see it show
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The words of the crowd seemed to seal His fate
Some would call Him victim of mans’ cruel hate
Along a dusty road, He made His way
Knowing that He was to die that day
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He came as a Babe
In a manger of hay
Born to us
On Christmas Day
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Parents brought their children to Christ one day
But others didn't like it-wante dto send them away
The Lord loved the children and had them stay
He was firm with the disciples-and had His say
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