No matter what else you are doing
From the cradle days, through to the end
You are writing life's secret story
Each day sees another page penned
Each month ends a thirty page chapter
Each year means the end of a part
And never an act is misstated
Or even one wish of the heart
Each day when you wake, the book opens
Revealing a page clean and white
What thoughts, and what words and what doings
Will cover its pages by night
God leaves that to you, you're the writer
And never a word should grow dim
Till the day you write the word finish
And give back your life's book to Him
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Some time between 1960 and 1964 my mother clipped this poem out of a magazine. It was written in blue ink on shiny white paper. She taped it to my bedroom door so I would see it when I got home from school. I committed it to mermory, and my copy has long since disappeared - so I had no idea until tonight who wrote it. I have shared it from memory for all these years. What a blessing to finally find its author! Thank you for years of encouragement and reminders.