Beneath the ancient skies of old,
Where stories are whispered, and legends told,
A humble donkey, meek and mild,
Found favor in the eyes of a child.
"For your love, so pure and true,
A mark of grace I bestow on you,"
Spoke the Lord, with love so vast,
A shadow of the cross, upon the donkey cast.
Ever since that blessed day,
The Jerusalem donkey bears the mark, they say,
A sign of love from the divine,
A symbol of grace, eternally to shine.
Through fields and roads, the donkey treads,
A living testament, its back bears threads
Of a story of humility and care,
A reminder of a love beyond compare.
So let us remember, in our hearts and minds,
The lesson of the donkey, and the love it finds.
In humility and service, let us all partake,
And carry our own crosses, for His name's sake.
March 13, 3024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In a meadow's gentle fold, under skies of blue,
A scene of tender love and care sweetly comes into view.
A momma donkey, coat of gray, in the sunlight's gentle sway,
Bends down low with love aglow, her baby's fears to allay.
The baby donkey, small and frail, upon the ground does lie,
His eyes a mirror of the world, wide beneath the open sky.
His mother's warmth, a shield, a charm, against the cool air's embrace,
In her snuggle, safe and sound, he finds his peaceful place.
With gentle nuzzles, soft and kind, she whispers love so true,
A language of the heart they speak, in the meadow's morning dew.
Together in this tranquil scene, where nature hums a lullaby,
A bond as strong as life itself, under the vast, embracing sky.
This picture of maternal grace, in nature's gentle hand,
Reminds us of the love that's found, across the animal land.
A momma donkey with her babe, in love's unspoken song,
In her care, he finds his strength, with her he belongs.
So let us learn from these gentle beasts, in their simple, loving way,
The power of a mother's love, to brighten any day.
For in each moment of tender care, a greater love is sown,
In the meadow of life, through warmth and strife, the seeds of love are grown.
March 13, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In a world where dreams drift like dandelion seeds,
Where ambition's fire blazes, ignites one's deeds,
There's a simple truth, stark, in daylight's glow,
"If you ain't willin' to work for it, then don't let your complaints flow."
Through fields of effort, where sweat meets soil,
Where the hands get dirty, embroiled in toil,
Lies the harvest of hope, the fruits of strain,
For nothing worth having comes without a little pain.
So cast not your grievances into the wind,
For the winds of change, by work, are pinned.
Grasp the plow, set your sights, dive into the fray,
For the treasures of persistence are found in the sway.
The mountain of dreams, it's steep, it's tall,
But the view from the summit is worth the crawl.
So lace up your boots, set your heart to climb,
Let your actions speak, in rhythm and rhyme.
For the world has little for the idle, the still,
But opens its arms to those who will,
To carve their path, to stake their claim,
To write their story, to light their flame.
So if you stand at the crossroads, if you yearn for the sky,
Remember the mantra that never will die:
"If you ain't willin' to work for it, then let your dreams rest,
For it's in the forge of effort that our mettle's truly test."
March 13, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In His Presence, I humbly stand
There is no way to understand
I trust in His Word and the Blessings therein
It was through His Word I invited Jesus in
From that day forward God has been watching over me
Giving me Peace and Comfort with the ability to see
Thank you God for choosing me and setting me free
That I may share your love that others may see
March 13, 2024
MarkWaldrop
In the quiet whispers of dawn, where shadows and light intertwine,
We often trade our blessings, for desires that misalign.
With hearts that yearn for more, in a world that's wide and vast,
We chase the fleeting shadows, forgetting gifts that truly last.
Our blessings, like the stars, are numerous and bright,
Yet we reach for earthly desires, lost in the night.
We forget the joy of simplicity, the peace that comes from within,
In pursuit of momentary pleasures, in a world so loud and grim.
Yet, every heart that wanders, in the end, seeks to find,
The true essence of happiness, a peace that's not defined
By the riches of the world, or the acclaim that fades away,
But in the moments of gratitude, where love and kindness stay.
Let us not trade our blessings, for gold that loses its sheen,
For in the whispers of the heart, lies a treasure unseen.
A contentment that flourishes, in the soil of grateful prayer,
A wealth that’s everlasting, beyond compare.
So let us hold our blessings close, and cherish them with care,
For in each moment of gratitude, we find a joy that's rare.
In the tapestry of life, let kindness be our desire,
A beacon of hope and love, that eternally inspires.
March 13, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In whispered tones beneath the sky,
Where dreams and wishes softly lie,
The prayer ascends, a hopeful flight,
Beyond the grasp of mortal sight.
It's not the words, when first they're spoken,
Nor in the silence, deep and unbroken,
That marks the moment, true and grand,
When prayers fulfill what they demand.
It weaves through lives in unseen ways,
Through darkest nights and brightest days,
A gentle force, a guiding light,
That brings the sought-for dawn to night.
For completion's gift, a treasure rare,
Is found in the hearts of those who care,
When the prayer, at last, takes its form,
In peace that follows after the storm.
So hold the faith, and let it be,
A beacon for all humanity,
For prayers are answered, not at their start,
But in the fruition found in each heart.
March 12, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In fields wide, under skies so vast and blue,
My grandfather, a farmer true, did stride.
With mule in tow, through earth, their bond they plied,
Sharing secrets only the land knew.
"Hard work," he said, with a twinkle in his eye,
"Is not just sweat that on your brow does bead.
It's knowing your beast, understanding its need,
And listening for the mule's contented sigh."
For in that moment, when the air shifts slight,
With a mule's fart, a simple, earthy art,
You know your work's done right, straight from the heart,
In harmony with land from morning light.
This wisdom, passed down through plow and dirt,
Speaks of more than just the soil we till.
It's about bonds we forge, the roles we fill,
And finding joy in work, and comfort in mirth.
So when the day ends, and shadows stretch long,
I recall his words, a simple, profound part
Of legacy, wrapped in a mule's silent start
A reminder of where true values belong.
March 12, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
Penned in Memory of Phil & Biscuit Sims Dad
In the quest for peace, day by day I tread,
Seeking solace where spirits lay their head.
"Jesus," they say, "in the bottle's depth hides,"
A hope I clutch as my solitary guide.
I thought I glimpsed Him, in the glass's gleam,
A fleeting vision, or so it did seem.
But illusions shatter, fall to the floor,
Leaving me empty, yearning for more.
Yet, amidst the fragments of hope and despair,
A whisper of strength floats in the air.
"I will begin anew," I softly decree,
"When the morrow lends its vigor to me."
For in the search, away from the night's shade,
Lies the promise of a dawn, freshly made.
With resilience as my newfound friend,
I'll seek not in bottles, but in the bend
Of life's river, where peace gently flows,
And the light of salvation brightly glows.
There, in the clarity of day's embrace,
I'll find Jesus, beyond the bottle's chase.
March 12, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In this moment, shadowed by night's deepest gloom,
We yearn for light, to pierce the overwhelming doom.
A whisper in the silence, a plea, soft and dour,
"We need God's healing power in this hour."
From the depths of despair, where our fears reside,
To the peaks of hope, where faith and love collide,
Let us seek the grace that showers like a springtime flower,
Craving God's healing power in this hour.
For the wounded heart and the burdened soul,
May divine compassion play its gentle role.
In every trial, may we discover the strength to tower,
Empowered by God's healing power in this hour.
Let the stars above remind us of love's eternal light,
Guiding us through the darkness, making our spirits bright.
In unity, let us stand, in faith let us not cower,
United in our need for God's healing power in this hour.
So we pray, with hands clasped and heads bowed low,
For healing streams from heaven's gates to flow.
In our darkest moments, in our neediest bower,
We find hope and refuge in God's healing power.
March 12, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In the quiet world between pen and light,
Where thoughts like rivers flow,
A poem's birth is a silent night,
A secret only the moon will know.
It waits in stillness, ink barely dry,
For eyes to give it breath,
For in the reader’s mind to lie,
Its meaning woken from death.
Not in the scribble of the poet's hand,
Nor in the echo of their voice,
But in the reader's heart does it stand,
In their soul, it finds its voice.
For a poem is a bridge, a door,
A path from soul to soul,
Its journey ends not on the page,
But in the reading, it becomes whole.
So when you find these words and read,
Know the poem at last is freed,
Its purpose found, its journey done,
In the space between us, we become one.
March 11, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
