imagination – Woodsmoke and Cardamom

Soft Rain

by Lucy M. Edmunds

Soft rain is so queer and wonderful
It washes the sky all clean;
The big warm drops come tumbling down
And make the brown lawns look green.

The street is a shiny black ribbon
That somebody dropped and forgot;
The trees are like leaky umbrellas
That the rain has torn and cut.

It makes such beautiful puddles
It's too bad I can't go out;
I'd like to put my boots on
And run and splash about

And play with the soft warm raindrops,
And hear what they have to say
Perhaps they would tell me about their homes
And why they came away.

I Wish I Were a Little Bird

by Lucy M. Edmunds

I wish I were a little bird
With strong wings I could fly
Away up there above the clouds
And pick a hole in the sky

Wouldn't that be wonderful?
Cause then I could see God.
I'll ask the birds about it
They wouldn't think it odd.

They prob'ly see Him every day
I'm very sure they do
'Cause they are always so happy
They make me happy, too.

A New Game

by Lucy M. Edmunds

(This poem, and the 5 that follow, were written by Lucy as a child)

When I am tired of hide and seek
And baseball and tag and such
I have another game I play
Which I like very much.

I lie on my stomach out in the field
Where the grass is tall and deep
And close my eyes just halfway up 
So I won't go to sleep.

Then I lie still and quick as a wink
The grass is a forest tall
And in and out and round about
Come animals large & small.

A measureworm measures carefully
The distance from here to there
While a great big bee goes bumbling around
For honey to take to his lair.

The ants are busy collecting food
To pile in their winter store
While the grasshopper sings with never a thought
For winter wind's bite and roar.

I feel like a king in this tiny world
When I close my eyes and pretend
But when I stand up and look at the sky
I am just a child again.

A Symphony

by Lucy M. Young

It seems to me that everything in life
Is written in a symphony;
All life's beauty, joy, and pain;
The mystery of death, the miracle of birth,
The promise of an everlasting life.

We hear the glorious, triumphant hues of sunset,
The softly tinted promise felt at dawn;
The soothing murmur of a gentle rain,
Roaring thunder of a hurricane;
The smooth, sheer beauty of a waterfall,
The gentle rippling of a quiet stream,
Crashing roll of surf;
The whispering silence of a windless forest,
The vibrant whisper of the wind among the pines,
Songs of birds;
The clear, cold majesty of winter stars,
The thrilling, breathless promise of the Spring,
Summer's toil, and Autumn's rich fulfillment.

In harmony unbroken to the end -
Pain and suffering, mellowed and relieved
By golden chords of happiness and beauty
Blended with love -
The Master leaves an imprint on my soul.

My Dream

by Lucy M. Young

I saw her only once for just a little while,
But in that time I found a living dream -
The little girl I'll never have.

She has the same blue eyes and golden hair,
The little flower face,
The winning smile, and tender, loving manner
I've seen in dreams so many times.
In her baby hands she holds my heart.
I long to hold her close.

She's yours, but would you mind too much
If, in my heart, I called her mine?

A Letter to Santa

by Lucy M. Young

Dear Santa, I never wrote to you
When I was very young;
But now that I am "not so young"
Please count my note among
The many letters you receive
With lists of varying length,
And pay it close attention
When I call upon your strength

To join with our precious Lord
And bring to all on earth
The long-forgotten meaning
Of our Saviour's lowly birth -
The joy of unselfish giving,
Of sharing with those in need,
Bring love, tranquility and hope,
And banish rampant greed.

Dear Santa, read my letter
And answer it please do;
And I promise that from now on
I will believe in you.

On Writing

by Lucy M. Young

Whenever I see a blank white pad of paper
I get an overwhelming urge to write,
So I sharpen my pencils, make a clear space on the table,
And sit while all coherent thought takes flight.

With ready pencil poised I sit, my mind a total blank -
Where are those lofty noble thoughts divine
That filled my mind this morning while I was in the shower
And couldn't write a single blessed line?

Tonight while I am sleeping all those thoughts will come together,
And I'll write a masterpiece the world will prize;
A manuscript of high scholastic talent will be born
To be lost forever when I wake at sunrise.

Books

by Lucy M. Young

I thank the Lord for books that take me places I can never go in person;
Books that grant my dearest wishes
And fulfill romantic dreams of travel and adventure.

I thank the Lord for books that lift me high above the rest of mundane daily tasks;
Books that help me soar on wings of joyous exultation to Shangri La;
For books that take me to exotic lands -
Australia, Egypt, Burma, Mandalay,
The land of the Midnight Sun.

I thank the Lord for books that tell of strong, courageous people
Whose selfless lives have made this world a better place to live;
For books of travel in the Holy Land
That let me wander reverently, vicariously, where Jesus walked.

And then I thank Him for the golden opportunity
To live where I could learn to read these books;
To live in freedom in a land where books are neither censored nor destroyed
But made available to everyone who has the will
To take advantage of this precious gift.