Good morning, echoes through the dawn's first light, A tale of valor, sorrow, and might. In nineteen-oh-seven, a boy was born, To a widow whose heart was torn.
His father, taken by a brother’s hand, Left a young widow in a desolate land. He grew up fast, a child no more, Dropped out in fifth grade to work, to toil, and bore.
Four brothers looked up to his guiding hand, In the logging woods, he made his stand. Married young, and children came, Seven in total, three angels to name.
In forty-four, when the world was ablaze, A month-old baby, he’d have to leave in a haze. From Harlan County to Normandy’s shore, This Kentucky boy faced the horrors of war.
Men fell like rain on that blood-soaked beach, One young soldier’s sanity just out of reach. “No need for a gun,” he cried out loud, As chaos raged and death's shadow shrouded.
Liberation brought tears to his weary eyes, Death camps unveiled humanity’s demise. In a foxhole, with a testament lost, He crawled through the night, in the cold and frost.
Hands bleeding, searching for hope, Found a Bible, bloodied, a way to cope. Twice wounded, he persevered, Shook Patton’s hand, a memory revered.
Post-war missions with Lt. Schaefer’s call, Hunting war criminals, he gave his all. Came home broken, inside and out, Shell shock, treatments, a mind full of doubt.
Twenty-five years, he battled unseen foes, A hero in shadows, the pain only grows. No bridges or highways bear his name, But his sacrifice remains, forever aflame.
A military family, devoted and true, To God and country, their hearts they imbue. When flags are trampled, in anger and pain, Remembering the fallen, tears fall like rain.
As taps play softly, a tribute to the brave, For your dad, your husband, the memories you save. In their honor, with pride, you stand tall, Heroes remembered, one and all.
Created by MarkWaldrop
Taken from a story on Facebook “Journey of a Mountain Woman”
Invisible threads traverse the sky, Radio waves that whisper, shout, and sigh, From earthbound stations, voices rise, Reaching far beyond our eyes.
Through the ether, swift they soar, Bouncing off the ionosphere, exploring more, No barrier holds their eager quest, In endless space, they find their rest.
Just like our prayers, both loud and meek, In moments of despair or peace we seek, They travel realms unseen, unheard, To touch the heart with every word.
In silence or in fervent plea, Our voices find divinity, Beyond the clouds, beyond the stars, In faith, they break through cosmic bars.
Both wave and prayer, unseen yet strong, In their journey, they belong, A bridge between the here and there, Connecting hearts through space and prayer.
So when you send your message high, In radio waves or prayerful sigh, Know that both are heard, embraced, In realms beyond our earthly pace.
Created by MarkWaldrop KE4WA Bible Fellowship Net bfn2.com
At five thousand five, where skies entwine, We gaze upon the quilt of earth unrolled— A tapestry of farmlands, woods in line, And small towns, stories yet untold.
Lake Greenwood, vast in splendor, lies A puddle 'neath our soaring flight, As we, in metal wings and birdlike guise, Join clouds and fowls in lofty height.
A T-6 Texan, from wars long past, Bears us through the air with propeller's song, Two and a half tons, steadfast and fast, Among the clouds where birds belong.
Yet in this expanse of open skies, Where worlds below us freely sprawl, A voice through static softly cries, Shrinking the universe to a call.
"Are you ready?" echoes, clear and bright, A challenge as we dance on high, To grasp the reins and feel the might, And learn to truly fly.
In moments vast, yet closely drawn, The world expands then tightens near, In the cockpit, where the dawn Of new horizons suddenly appear.
In South Carolina, where spring breathes anew, Nature awakens with a vibrant view. The mountains call with their timeless grace, Inviting the soul to a higher place.
Beaches whisper with waves serene, Golden sands where thoughts convene. Boats dance upon the river's flow, Carrying dreams where the soft winds blow.
Lakes offer solace, a peaceful retreat, Fishing lines cast, the moment complete. Every park a story to tell, Where earth and heart gently swell.
Plan your escape, let spirits embark, On a journey through South Carolina's park. In the cradle of spring, find your delight, Where every path brings joy to light.
In the silent hours of contemplation’s realm, Where thoughts like mighty ships take the helm, There lies a truth, both stark and bare, “Failing to prepare is preparing to fail,” they declare.
Upon the canvas of the night, stars in alignment, Whispering secrets of success and confinement. For those who in foresight’s garden gently tread, Harvest dreams alive, not shadows of dread.
A lesson taught by time, ancient and wise, That only the prepared meet the sunrise. While others sleep in the bed of procrastination, They wake to the storm of missed realization.
It’s the weaver’s loom, the builder’s square, The navigator’s map, through fog and air. A principle, simple, yet profound, In every endeavor, let preparation abound.
So gather your tools, your plans, your might, Under the moon’s soft glow or the sun’s bright light. For the path to victory, narrow and steep, Is found by those who sow, while others sleep.
In this world of chance, of chaos, of storm, Let preparation be your standard, your norm. For in its embrace, you’ll find the grail, And remember, “Failing to prepare, is preparing to fail.”
Life is like a roll of toilet paper, so they say,
A humble, unassuming guide through each day.
At first, it seems endless, round and full,
Each sheet a possibility, life's beautiful pull.
In the beginning, unwinding slow and sure,
Each moment savored, each experience pure.
The roll bulky, promising, a bountiful supply,
Unaware of how quickly time can fly.
Midway, a realization, the spindle spins with ease,
The days slipping by like a soft summer breeze.
What once seemed a mountain now a dwindling hill,
As we chase dreams, aspirations, and thrills.
Closer to the end, the pace picks up speed,
Each sheet more precious, as we acknowledge the need.
To make every moment count, to live fully each day,
As the roll nears its end, in its humble, fading sway.
Life, like the roll, moves faster towards its close,
Reminding us to cherish each high and weather each low.
For in the end, it's not how long the roll was, but how we lived,
That measures the life we've had, the love we've given, and the joy we give.
March 18, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In a corner of the world, under a window so bright,
Amanda R. Waldrop shares a tale of delight.
Mark, with a thought so tender and able,
Gifted a squirrel picnic table.
Perched outside the window of her home office view,
A scene unfolds, fresh as morning dew.
Where nature's little jesters, in their playful spree,
Feast upon their table, in pure glee.
Molly, the kitty, with eyes wide and keen,
Watches the squirrels, in a world serene.
Together they sit, day by day,
In silent camaraderie, in their own special way.
Amanda, with Molly, finds joy so profound,
In the simple pleasures that abound.
A squirrel picnic table, a window, a sight,
Turns ordinary moments into pure delight.
So here's to the small things that make life sweet,
To moments of peace, our hearts' retreat.
For in the story of Amanda, Mark, and Molly's grace,
Lies a reminder of the beauty in our space.
March 17, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop “Grandpa”
I'm just an extra in somebody else’s play
Being an extra I have few words to say
Being an extra is an honor I must say
To be asked to be in anyone's play
I follow the directions the director gives me
Always being ready when he calls on me
Maybe I will get a chance one day
To be famous in a well-known play
February 3, 2024
MarkWaldrop
Happy Groundhog's Day, twenty-twenty-four!
With eager eyes, we all did explore,
Punxsutawney Phil, the seer of time,
Gave us a forecast, oh so prime.
He did NOT see his shadow, so it seems,
Spring is closer, in our dreams.
Gone soon, the winter's icy tether,
All thanks to a rodent's weather.
Yes, science abounds in meteorology's task,
Yet, for Phil's prediction, we eagerly ask.
Funny, isn't it, how traditions entwine,
With forecasts and futures, all align.
So celebrate the coming of spring's sweet call,
Phil's decree, a shadow's fall.
Happy Groundhog's Day, let's all cheer,
For spring's warmth is nearly here!
February 2, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
