The soil is good for the soul,
A gift of life, both deep and whole.
With gentle hands, we sow and reap,
Harvesting blessings rich and deep.

The food it gives, so pure, so true,
Feeds the body, mind, and spirit too.
Golden grains and fruits so sweet,
A feast of love in every seed.

The rain may fall, the sun may shine,
But nature’s touch is most divine.
With every root and sprouting vine,
God’s own mercy intertwines.

So tend the earth with patient grace,
And you will find a sacred place.
For in the soil, both strong and free,
Lies the breath of eternity.

MarkWaldrop

Not the ones who speak alike,
but those whose hearts align,
find in silence, in a glance,
a language more divine.

Words may falter, fade, or break,
yet feelings bridge the space,
a touch, a tear, a knowing look—
the soul leaves its trace.

Beyond the borders words create,
beyond the tongue’s embrace,
it’s love, it’s sorrow, it’s pure truth
that time cannot erase.

For in the hush where voices end,
where echoes fade away,
two souls that feel the world the same
will always find their way.

MarkWaldrop 

No matter the way, no matter the time,
Life fades like the setting sun’s chime.
By nature’s hand or fate’s cruel tide,
One day, we all must step inside.

Some leave in slumber, peaceful, still,
Some by chance, against their will.
Some in battle, some in flight,
Yet all must face the endless night.

But death is not the journey’s end,
It is the door where souls ascend.
And what remains beyond that gate
Is set not by chance, but choice and fate.

So keep your soul, your heart made right,
Walk in truth, embrace the Light.
For none may know the hour or day,
When earth will fade and call us away.

Be ready, friend, make peace today,
With God who holds the final say.
For when you stand before His face,
Only His mercy will be your grace.

MarkWaldrop 

Mat 24:36  "But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. 

Not every wound needs words to mend,
Not every storm needs light to end.
In darkest moments, lost and weak,
It’s not advice we truly seek.

A quiet hand, a steady heart,
A silent nod—a simple start.
No need for wisdom, grand or wise,
Just someone near, with knowing eyes.

For pain is ours, yet not alone,
A heavy weight not meant for one.
A touch, a glance, a soul so near,
Can chase away the deepest fear.

No need to fix, no need to speak,
Just sit beside me when I’m weak.
Your presence tells me I belong,
That even broken, I am strong.

So let us hold, let us stay,
In love that whispers, “I’m here today.”
For in the silence, hearts can mend,
And presence speaks what words pretend.

MarkWaldrop

Ernest Hemingway once said
"In our darkest moments, we don't need advice."

The Old Clock stopped at twelve the day
That Grandma quietly slipped away.
Her hands once turned its ticking wheel,
A daily task, her gentle seal.

If that Old Clock could speak its mind,
The tales within we’d surely find.
It saw each birth, each tear, each smile,
Each fleeting moment, every trial.

It ticked through laughter, love, and pain,
Through sunny days and pouring rain.
Its face bore witness, year by year,
To all the lives that gathered near.

The hands are still, the pendulum rests,
Yet in its silence, it still protects—
The echoes of a life well-spent,
A legacy of love’s intent.

So let it stand, a sentinel true,
A keeper of memories, old and new.
Though Grandma’s gone, her spirit stays,
Within that clock and all her ways.

MarkWaldrop