Poetry for the Soul

                                              

Yesterday is history.
Tomorrow is a mystery.
Today is God's gift,
that is why we call it the present.

                        Anonymous

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The Path That Leads To Nowhere

There's a path that leads to Nowhere
In a meadow that I know,
Where an inland island rises
And the stream is still and slow;
There it wanders under willows
And beneath the silver green
Of the birches' silent shadows
Where the early violets lean.

Other pathways lead to Somewhere,
But the one I love so well
Had no end and no beginning --
Just the beauty of the dell,
Just the windflowers and the lilies
Yellow striped as adder's tongue,
Seem to satisfy my pathway
As it winds their sweets among.

There I go to meet the Springtime,
When the meadow is aglow,
Marigolds amid the marshes, --
And the stream is still and slow. --
There I find my fair oasis,
And with care-free feet I tread
For the pathway leads to Nowhere,
And the blue is overhead!

All the ways that lead to Somewhere
Echo with the hurrying feet
Of the Struggling and the Striving,
But the way I find so sweet
Bids me dream and bids me linger,
Joy and Beauty are its goal, --
On the path that leads to Nowhere
I have sometimes found my soul!
                                            Corinne Roosevelt Robinson

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Sista to Sista

We are made from the same cloth

woven together by a silver thread.

Our spirits have laughed and cried many lifetimes together.

In this life we are sisters.

Tears of joy, tears of sadness

bond the special moments of our lives

We stood strong

sharing dreams and secrets as others

flowed through our lives leaving their footprints on our hearts.

As the years passed, dreams became realities.

What sweet songs sprang forth from your heart,

as I took the pen to make these precious moments last forever.

                                                  JJM

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Mommy, why do people stare at me?

Because you are the chosen one.

Mommy, why do strange sounds utter from my mouth?

Because you still singing the sweet music of the angels.

Mommy, why don't my legs let me walk or my hands hold a cup?

Because your body is a temple that God is still building.

Mommy, does God still love me the way I am?

Yes, my son, how could he not, when you are his Perfect Child.

                                                                                                               JJM