In the gentle thaw of spring's embrace,
Where new beginnings softly trace,
The outline of the world's serene face,
Dear Lord, maybe it's time.
Maybe it's time to slow, to find
The simpler joys we've left behind.
Cook a meal, let flavors unwind,
In the warmth of a kitchen, secrets bind.
Let's play games with the kids, let laughter ring,
In each echo, life's joy we bring.
Sit for a spell, feel the calm a cat can sling,
And sup on a cup of coffee, let your heart sing.
Maybe it's time to kneel, to pray,
To wonder, to dream, to stray
From paths worn deep, to a brighter day,
For we're never too old to dream, come what may.
It's time to think, to truly see,
The fleeting moments that used to be.
The elders' wisdom, a towering tree,
Maybe it's time we gentle, in humility.
Acknowledge we are a Nation under God,
In His grace, we are flawed yet awed.
It's time to ponder the path we trod,
The things we love, the facade we applaud.
As spring unfurls its vibrant hue,
Let's rethink the attention we accrue
To things unimportant, untrue,
Dear Lord, maybe it's time for a view anew.
For it's the first day of spring, a season to cherish,
A time for love to grow, not perish.
In this rebirth, let's vow to nourish
The life, the love we dearly wish to flourish.
March 19, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
I have butterflies when I began to speak
I make them Holy from the spirit I seek
The butterflies slow their wings to a rhythm of love
Sent from My Heavenly Father from Heaven above
Calmness comes from within not from without in a world of sin
Thank you for sending Your Son Jesus to come live within
March 19, 2024
Mark Waldrop
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 the heart of Philadelphia’s vibrant hum,
Lies a tale of simple faith, from which great lessons come.
A little girl, with hopes so high and pockets light,
Stood outside a church, a sorrowful sight.
"Too crowded," they said, "No room for you today."
Her heart broke in pieces; she couldn't pray.
But a pastor saw, beyond her shabby frame,
A soul yearning for love, not seeking fame.
With a gentle hand, he led her through the door,
Found a spot in Sunday School, on the polished floor.
That night, her heart light, she dreamed of spaces wide,
Where no child was turned away, no tears to hide.
Years passed, her light dimmed, to heaven, she did depart,
Leaving behind a purse, and an enormous heart.
Fifty-seven cents and a note, scrawled with love so pure,
"This is to help the church grow, of this, I am sure."
The pastor, moved by love, shared her story wide,
A call to hearts of many, letting her spirit guide.
A wealthy man, touched by grace, offered land to sow,
For fifty-seven cents, a new hope began to grow.
Donations poured like rain, from places far and near,
A testament to love, and to a girl so dear.
From her small gift, a legacy was born,
A church, a university, a hospital, dawned.
Temple Baptist Church, with seats for thousands more,
Temple University, with knowledge at its core.
The Good Samaritan Hospital, a beacon of healing light,
And a Sunday School, where no child is out of sight.
Her portrait hangs, a reminder of what faith can do,
Beside Dr. Russell H. Conwell, whose vision saw it through.
Fifty-seven cents, not just a meager sum,
But a seed of faith, from which miracles come.
In Philadelphia, remember this tale so bright,
Of a little girl’s love, shining ever so light.
What God can do with fifty-seven cents, you see,
Is a testament to faith, love, and humility.
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”
Little feet depend on you and me
To direct their path to being happy
Little feet are so tender and bare
Caress them to show we care
Little feet will follow behind our steps
Growing each day in love that helps
Little feet will be grown someday
Other little feet will follow and play
March 17, 2024
MarkWaldrop
In a realm where the skies stretch endless and blue,
Beyond the veil, where each dawn feels brand new,
There's a place, serene, where love's forever true,
A heavenly home where our pets wait, in view.
Gentle meadows under soft, eternal light,
Where the air hums with joy, day and night,
Here, every bond remains unbroken, tight,
In this paradise, every soul takes flight.
No farewell here, just a sweet, serene pause,
Where time's embrace gently softens its jaws,
Every creature basks in love's warm applause,
Bound by a promise, without any clause.
Through the fields, they come running to greet,
With wagging tails and purrs, oh so sweet,
In their eyes, the love we've always known,
They wait for us, in this heavenly home.
So fear not the journey, or the passage of time,
For in this divine haven, everything's sublime,
Our pets, our friends, in their prime,
Whisper, "It's easy to come home, where love's the rhyme."
March 17, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In the quiet twilight's gentle dome,
Where the whispers of the evening roam,
There's a solace in the breeze that's blown,
Knowing you will be there, makes it easy to go home.
Through the miles that stretch and vast skies dome,
Past the fields where wildflowers have grown,
There's a path that's lit by the love shown,
Knowing you will be there, makes it easy to go home.
As the stars above start to brightly shone,
And the moon in its full glory is thrown,
My heart beats a rhythm, soft-tone,
Knowing you will be there, makes it easy to go home.
No matter how far or wide I've flown,
To lands unknown, on journeys of my own,
There's a beacon, constantly, brightly sown,
Knowing you will be there, makes it easy to go home.
For home is not just a place of stone,
But where love and warmth are forever known,
A haven where seeds of trust are grown,
Knowing you will be there, makes it easy to go home.
March 17, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
St. Patrick’s Day, a sea of green,
A lively spirit, rarely seen.
It’s more than parades on city streets,
More than the rhythm of lively beats.
It’s the warmth of a community’s embrace,
A day where everyone finds their place.
It’s laughter and stories, old and new,
Under skies that seem a brighter blue.
It’s in the shamrock, in the ale,
In every tale of hill and dale.
A reminder of Ireland’s enduring call,
A celebration of spring, loved by all.
To me, it's memories, vivid and bright,
Of friendships forged in soft moonlight.
It’s a promise of renewal, of beginning anew,
A day when the world feels small and true.
So here’s to St. Patrick, to the joy he brings,
To the songs in our hearts that forever sing.
For on this day, no matter where we roam,
We remember the feeling of coming home.
March 17, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In a world where irony takes a stand,
A bald-headed man, with a comb in hand,
Stands bemused, amidst life's jest,
Holding a gift that's none but a test.
What use has he for teeth so fine,
When atop his head, no locks entwine?
Yet, in this gift, a lesson's hidden,
In life's odd gifts, wisdom is bidden.
Experience, a teacher both cruel and kind,
Leaves its marks on both heart and mind,
For what's a comb to barren crown,
But a reminder of times once flown?
Yet, let not this symbol despair invite,
For every dusk is followed by light,
In every loss, there's something gained,
In every drought, hope's rain is feigned.
So holds he the comb, not with grief, but grace,
Seeing beyond the irony, a deeper place,
Where every experience, be it odd or grand,
Shapes the soul, like grains of sand.
Thus, with a smile, he accepts life's comb,
A token of times both lost and won,
For in every experience, no matter how odd,
Lies a lesson from the hands of God.
March 17, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
