Custom Poetry
for all Occasions
by Barbara Young
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Custom Poetry for all Occasions by Barbara Young |
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Your Quilt
Bright are the patches,
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Colors Of The Night Red and orange, the molten sun
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Friendships like a garden
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One more time If I could hug you one more time, Or tell you that I care, To hold your hand and see your smile That follows everywhere... If I could kiss your tender cheek, Or dry a little tear, If I could hear your laughter, But there is none to hear, If only for a moment We could share a word or two, I would give the world & all If I could know you knew, That you are missed so much. In every thing I see, Your sparkling eyes & joy Were everything to me Why dont we hold each moment, So fleeting and so fast, The joy we only realize, When it is gone and past, We should cherish every moment, There may not be another To have just one more time, To love and have each other.. One more time is gone, It has vanished with your light, And one more time, just one more time Could fill my darkest night... |
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Brevity
I am only here for a
moment,
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Crimson And Ribbons It is more than crimson ribbons, Or silver bells so sweet and clear, It is more than frosty mornings, Or the greetings that we hear. There's more meaning that the presents, That we rush around to buy, Or the smell of pine and wassail, And our neighbors stopping by. It is not the festive trimmings, Or the hearth sides ruddy glow, There's much more that makes it Christmas, It began so long ago... We see across the distance As our hearts span time and space, A tiny baby in a stable, In a lonely forlorn place. For there was no spot to lay Him, In all the land round Bethlehem, Just a simple lowly manger There was no room in the inn. Hark, we hear the angels singing, Their joyous voices fill the sky, All the shepherds fear and tremble. As they watch their sheep nearby... Dazzling star of Bethlehem, Oer' the stable shining bright, We see Mary and her Jesus, Bathed in hallowed golden light. Oh, the splendor of that moment, Lives as ages come and go, Christmas morning in a manger, Lay the Christ child long ago. So you see, it's more than presents, Or the things we want to buy, It's a precious little baby Who had come to earth to die. So the Christmas bells now ringing, With their sweet, clear silver call, Will remind us of our Savior, The most wondrous gift of all. |
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Diamond in the Rough I know I am not perfect, I am reminded every day I struggle and I try My faults get in the way I vow I will be better, Being good is sometimes tough I must remind myself and others I am a diamond in the rough I set my goals so high and lofty Trying to choose the better way Plans all go askew it seems I must try another day.. So much to aspire to There is just a lot of stuff For an ordinary person Who's a diamond in the rough My corners all need polishing, I could take a buff or two, I remind myself I am human With a kaleidoscopic view There's a million things to alter And the changes can be tough, But just a quick reminder, 1 am a diamond in the rough.. Though my edges may be sharp No color's shining through There is one who sees the outcome Can see the hidden hue, And as He works and polishes Takes the time to shine and buff, His patience is so infinite With His diamond in the rough, I know someday I'll glisten With colors clear and bright, My trials are for a purpose, Everything will be alright.. I will stand in dazzling brightness When the polishing is through And this diamond in the rough Will be beautiful to view.... |
A Bedroll, A Saddle And God Is a cowboy a shirt and blue jeans, or perhaps just boots and a hat, Must he talk with a western drawl, are there rules that are down pat? Does he have to ride a fast bronco, does he have to ride for the brand, Must he ford mighty rivers, or ride long miles through the sand? Does he have to win the cowgirl, or outshoot all the bad guys, Should he play a guitar and sing, songs about blue western skies? Sometimes we have the wrong picture, of just what a cowboy must be, It's not like the old western movies, the shootin' and ridin' we see.... No..it's the cold frosty mornings, riding hard for the brand... Rounding up all the mavericks, being so sore he can't stand... Its a lumpy and soggy old bedroll, it's bacon and beans by the fire, It's hearing the howl of the coyotes, and stringin' miles of barb wire... It's learning to be on your lonesome, singing your own self to sleep... It's finding the trails and the crossings, where the rivers run shallow or deep... Sometimes it's the stars up in heaven. the wind whistling a lonely, sad tune, The sounds of the prairie or desert, the light of a big yellow moon.. It's learning to ride with nature, it's making your horse your best friend, Or finding Gods wonders along the road or down at the rainbows end Sometimes its pink , yellow gold and crimson, a sunset that rivals all, Or rivers all blue and flowing, or maybe a bluebirds call.. So ,its not what a cowboy is wearing, or even the way that he speaks, It's something that born within him, something he loves and he seeks... For his roof is the vast western sky, or his bed the soft prairie sod, His bedroll, his horse and his saddle, all give him a close look at God... |
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Little Lobo All alone in the desert, just a baby so cold and afraid, Little Lobo raised his small head, from the place where he now laid, The wolfers had been there early, They had killed the whole pack, Lobo gave a sad cry, for the mother who couldnt come back... He had been hiding for hours, so hungry scared and cold, No siblings for companions, a saga too sad to be told.. The stars were shining like diamonds, why would a little wolf care, The moon all golden and full set him to howling full square.. He heard a sound in the distance , were the wolfers coming back, Only he was left, the last one out of the pack... They had hunted them down and shot them, it was the fur they sought Little Lobo had run so swiftly and now it all seemed for naught.. There was a rider upon him, caught him quick before he could run, He snarled and he snapped in fury, for now the chase was all done... He was such a little fellow, the big cowboy laughed and held tight, What's the rucus little feller, you sure are full of the fight.. Now the cowboy began to speak softer , I'm about as alone as you I am going to take you with me, I will bet we'll be friends, we two... That was just the beginning, for Zeb and Lobo his friend, They wandered the desert and valleys, companions to the end... Lobo was a faithful companion, Zeb kept him safe by his side, They rode and rounded together, doing their work with pride, For Zeb was a goodhearted cowboy, he taught Lobo the trade, Although Lobo was a wolf, he was best cow dog ever made, At night when work was over, Zeb would sing some old tune They shared the warm fire together , and Lobo would howl at the moon Out in the Utah desert, with coyotes and eagles that soar, That time has been forgotten, for there are wolfers no more, And perhaps on a cold winters eve when the wind is singing a tune, You might hear Lobos great grandsons howling away at the moon, He was such a little fellow, alone and so afraid, but he grew up brave and fearless, Lobo the wolf, the best cow dog ever made... |
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