Weather-bee (Alma Ann Wil

Vardaman, MS, USA

Sweet Pete

The game of life, I can no longer play
I dug my ditches, plowed my row
I must go, I cannot stay
To reap, God says, if I sow.

The ditches were deep, the rows long
The mules, I followed, that pulled the plow
So weak, I feel, no strength to be strong
Would make another field, but how?

My feet are tired - legs refuse to move
The shoulders, once strong, are bent.
The heart that sang is no longer in the groove.
Pain, my body has rent!

Weak, weary and worn, the eyes.
That beheld God's wonderful world.
The sky of blue, the birds that fly
The dawn of a new day - unfurl.

Inside this old head, visions of God's world whirl,
Mansions and glory - I dream
Streets of gold, gates of pearl
Rainbows are the color scheme.
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