#421 On My Pocketful of Prayer

In silent hours of early morn I wait
As coming dawn presages Life’s rude trials
I lie awake, regarding Fortune’s bait
These dwindling hours deride my fraught denials
I must away to face Life’s ruthless glare
No sword, no shield, just pocketful of prayer.

#417 On That Poor Child

I think about him, now, sometimes
That poor, lost, lonely, saddened child
Clinging onto those broken rhymes
His life uncertain, desperate, wild

But wild, too, were his little dreams
To seek Success, and through that, Love
And now he knows, beyond what seems
Love comes when he trusts Him, Above.

#406 On This Flag of Hope

I walk through Life like a Pierre Bezukhov
In search of Truth, I grope in the darkness
I ask myself if all this is enough
Each step a denial against the sadness
Through tears I vainly plant this flag of hope
That God’s own Mercy gives me will to cope.