Honor Days of Old

If you don’t know where you came from,
You’re drifting in the tide
No compass in your pocket,
No guiding star to ride.

The roots beneath your story,
The ones you barely see,
Are anchors in the stormwinds,
They shape who you will be.

The faces in old photographs,
The names that echo still,
They whisper truths and lessons
That time alone can’t fill.

If you forget the journey,
The pain, the joy, the song,
You’ll chase a hollow future
And wonder what feels wrong.

So honor where you came from,
The soil that held your seed
For knowing past gives purpose
And shows which steps to heed.

Deu 32:7  Remember the days of old, consider the years of many generations: ask thy father, and he will shew thee; thy elders, and they will tell thee. 

For God’s Glory and Honor
MarkWaldrop