Here's a poem I wrote, entitled Psalm 19.
The heavens declare the glory of God,
Quietly from above the lowered window pane.
The firmament shows His handiwork
To me as I sit on the edge of my twin bed.
Day unto day utters speech,
Like dusty tomes on the top library shelf.
Night after night shows knowledge
To those who sit up later than they ought.
There is no speech nor language
Where their voice is not heard.
There is only the summer time,
When I go to bed before
They have anything to say.
But it is now September and once again,
Their line is gone out through all the earth.
Or maybe I just started paying attention.
Rapt to listen more and more,
Under the tutelage of November.
And the eastern magi of December,
I’ll sit here through February
Until the wedding March,
When the bridegroom comes out of his chamber,
And rejoiceth as a strong man
To run his race.
The ancients declare the glory of God-
“Brought the geranium in,
Cut two more cords,
Lit the furnace last night”.
The mighty ones His handiwork-
“Saw my first buck past velvet.
Fruit trees just loaded this year-
Gonna be a rough one.”
To everything there is a season,
And a time to every purpose under heaven.
Including sitting on the edge of my twin bed,
Looking at the stars through
The dropped pane of my window.
I will take that book from the shelf,
Close the window,
And read for a little while.
May the words of my mouth,
And the meditations of my heart,
Be acceptable in Thy sight,
O Lord, my strength and my redeemer.
