Open my ears to the Spirit song, rafting through the land,
With words of a simple making, whose meaning, hearts commend.
Its tune, a lively tonic, the broken, a healing hand,
The weary shall find solace, and the childlike, understand.
~ D.F.


Just a quiet foreshadowing, a whisper through the trees,
The past, its days reflecting, yet what glories beckon thee.
For sure, His hand was guiding, while dark the hour may be,
O Await the dawn, its breaking, there, Love, victorious, free.
~ D.F.


Deft, with measured movement, the crafting by His hand,
From nought, the form emerges, each a plan so grand.
Polishing and filing, rough edges, gently sand,
Then a kiss, life breathing, with flowers, grace the land.
~ D.F.

“Is He not the carpenter’s son?”
~ Matthew 13:55


There he grew before us, a child before our eyes,
Once a tiny sapling, now his, the roving skies.
Whither goes his journey, what promise holds his prize,
Now his wings doth take him, sweet angel in disguise.
~ D.F.