I'm a robin - and my time has come again.
The snow is gone, and the season's song
Is laughter and shared warmth with friends.
The trees spurt growth, and the colors burst,
And again I find, with sweet passing of time,
I'm saved! from mean Winter's gray curse.
So for a season, I'll hop in the grass,
And chase crickets for lunch on the fence.
And I'll fly from the cat, and dart like a bat,
Cause it's Spring! and fun only makes sense.
P. Davis
On seeing a beautiful old church in Brandon, Mississippi
Oh great white timbered monument,
Whose spire would touch the sky,
Do you think that by your height
You'll reach the God so high?
Or you, oh red brick counterpart,
With oaken doors so thick,
Is your grandeur one with God?
Is He encased in brick?
Is the way by earthy works?
Can we build a way to God?
Can our need be satisfied
With yet, one more facade?
Nay! I say. That's not the way
For it's only by his grace,
And not the beams of human schemes
That bring us to His Place.
No mortal works can ere suffice.
They are but hollow frames.
And when the winds of judgment blow,
They'll never stand the strain.
They'll crumble with the boards and bricks
And stained glass windows high.
Like all the works of self made men
Beneath God's searching eye.
For He searches not for monuments
To the grand designs of men,
But rather for the human heart
That yields itself to Him.
P. Davis
Upon contemplating the "rock stars" of our time, musical and otherwise
What then?
When the profane is promoted
And the truly good, made low
What then?
When the pretense is praised
And the reality, ignored
What then?
When our mask is celebrated
And our substance is in the wind
What then?
P. Davis
