Dad, how do you do poetry? My son once chose to ask,
So I sat down with Timothy... and then began my task...
My computer switched on, ready... with Wordpad opened wide,
Then I sat there, still and steady... for blessings stored inside...
The title arrived in seconds! And so I typed each word...
As if by magic, all at once... yet nothing overheard...
I paused again... for my first line... eight syllables then came...
By inspiration or design... their message to proclaim...
The second phrase popped in my mind... so I typed on and on...
Now came the stage for rhymes to find... for me to build upon...
A minute came and went by then... and Timothy now smiled...
For he saw things beyond his ken... for he was but a child...
The next verse started suddenly... before my son could blink...
As I typed on, excitedly... the things I tend to think...
Of God and Man, of peace and love... of Christ who chose to die,
God's perfect plan that proved enough... forgiveness to supply...
And by verse three, I stopped and wept... recalling Calvary...
The place where prophecies were kept... where Jesus died for me...
And by verse four, my son wept, too... the final line was done...
And through the poetry I do... that day Christ saved my son...
Denis Martindale February 2019.
GOD BLESS YOU AS YOU BLESS GOD!
DO SOMETHING SPECIAL FOR HIM...
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem