'If' Poem by Hepburn Caraway

If I cannot write for the Lord,
My gift is a pretty disguise,
Signed and sealed by Myself,
Every word a fantasy for men.

If I cannot live with a smile
My joy is a pitiful mask
Plastered and glued by the hands I guard
Protectively from shame.

If I dare not act, should delay
Accost and my hands paralyze
Then the gifts of this pen are what Vanity buys
On scores of one to ten.

If I do not give to God
The writing inspired by love
I shame each man made word
And bring to fault the pen
But if I pour back "gift"
To be poured out again
I ask Him to extend the liberty of love to give.