Summer is here, and it's the perfect time To bask in the sun with a friend so sublime. With wagging tails and joyful cheer, The Dog Days of Summer are finally here.
We chase the rays and run through the fields, Enjoying the warmth that the season yields. Splashing in water, tongues hanging out, These moments of bliss, we can't live without.
From dawn till dusk, we play and explore, Finding new adventures at every door. With every bark and every bound, In these Dog Days, pure joy is found.
So let's embrace the sunny days, With our furry friends in endless ways. For the Dog Days of Summer are here to stay, Bringing happiness to every day.
There was a young man who returned from war, Called home to his mother, his voice raw and sore. "I'm back in the States, Mom, I'm finally here." Her heart leapt with joy, her eyes filled with cheer.
"I'm preparing a feast, all your favorites, dear." He said, "Mom, I'd like to bring a friend near." "Of course, son," she said, "That's wonderful news." But he had more to share, his tone somber, subdued.
"My friend lost his eye in the midst of the fight." "That's no problem, son," she answered, polite. "There's another thing, Mom, he lost his right leg." "That's a bit harder, but we'll make it," she said.
"One more thing, Mom, his right arm's gone too." She paused, then replied, "We'll manage for you." "But, Mom," he continued, "I promised he'd stay." Her voice grew uncertain, "Son, not in that way."
"We can't handle that, it's too much to bear, The costs and the strain, it wouldn't be fair." He replied softly, "I'll tell him, it's fine." The next day, the news left her heart in a bind.
Her son took his life, the burden too great, The friend he spoke of was his own broken state. He sought understanding, a place to belong, But faced with rejection, he couldn't stay strong.
Now she lives with the guilt, the echoing pain, Wishing she'd seen past his words to his strain. A lesson in love, in acceptance so true, For every soldier, and the battles they go through.
Freedom is never free, A truth through history we see. Each generation, brave and bold, Must fight anew for rights of old.
In fields and streets, on land and sea, Men and women strive to keep us free. With courage, they stand against the night, For liberty, they wage the fight.
Sacrifices made, the price they pay, To guard the freedoms we hold today. For every inch of ground reclaimed, For every victory proudly named.
We honor those who faced the foe, In their footsteps, we too must go. For freedom’s flame, they lit the way, A torch we carry, come what may.
Let us remember, never forget, The debt we owe, the vows we've met. For freedom's song, a legacy, Each generation's guarantee.
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”
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.
Moms, you are cherished beyond measure, Not for the deeds your hands perform. You are treasured in His sight, For simply being the form you adorn.
God knows every layer of your spirit, More deeply than you could ever view. In His infinite wisdom and mercy, He has made His loving verdict—He cherishes you.
Across all the mornings you rise before dawn, Through nights when peace seems afar. He sees the strength in your weary eyes, Illuminated, as you are His star.
So on this day when we honor you, Let this truth in your heart be still: You are loved just for being you, With a love that no depths can fill.
Happy Mother's Day to you, A blessing from the skies above— Eternally valued, eternally held, In the boundless embrace of God's love.
Beneath the vast and boundless sky, We tread with hearts both low and high, Unknown the count of sands that drift, Through Time’s unyielding, ceaseless sift.
We raise our eyes with humble grace, To thank the Lord for His embrace—For mercy poured on earthly stage, In blessings penned on life’s wide page.
Each dawn awakes with softest light, Each star that guards the velvet night, Speaks of a love so vast and deep, A shepherd strong, His flock to keep.
So let us walk with quiet might, Through shadowed vale, in sun’s bright light, And hold each precious day we see, As gifts from One who set us free.
In gratitude, our hearts do swell, For stories only time can tell, A tapestry of woven hues, A life embraced, with days we choose.
Thus, hand in hand with faith, we climb, With hope engraved for endless time, Each moment laced with sacred view, Our thanks we give, forever true.
To a humble man, what could this day be, This Resurrection Day, this mystery? Not just a tale from ancient lore, But a promise of life, forevermore.
It means the dawn after the longest night, A second chance to set things right. The stone rolled away, an empty grave, A sign of the power He has to save.
For a man like me, it whispers grace, In every shadowed, forgotten place. It’s hope when despair seems to win, A gentle reminder of victory over sin.
It’s love that conquered death and fear, A call that every humble heart hears. To rise, though we fall, to forgive, to mend, To believe that beginnings outshine the end.
This day, it means that we are not alone, That we’re loved, called, and known. A promise that our faults and our scars, Are nothing to the One who hung the stars.
So, what does it mean, this day, to me? A gift of grace, so vast, so free. A reminder that no matter how small, Through His resurrection, He redeems us all.
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
