[JustAmy]

~~~~~ Prior Threads ~~~~~ July, 2005, Closing Thread
2008 February, 2008 March, 2008 April, 2008 May, 2008 June, 2008 July, 2008 August, 2008 September, 2008 (Sept 26, 2008) October, 2008 November, 2008 December, 2008	2009 January, 2009 February, 2009 March, 2009 April, 2009 May, 2009 June, 2009 July, 2009 August, 2009 September, 2009 October, 2009 November, 2009 December, 2009	2010 January, 2010 February, 2010 March, 2010 April, 2010 May, 2010 June, 2010 July, 2010 August, 2010 September, 2010 October, 2010 November, 2010 December, 2010	2011 January, 2011 February, 2011 March, 2011 April, 2011 May, 2011 June, 2011 July, 2011 August, 2011 September, 2011 October, 2011 November, 2011 December, 2011	2012 January, 2012 February, 2012 March, 2012 April, 2012 May, 2012 June, 2012 July, 2012 August/September, 2012 October, 2012 November, 2012 December, 2012	2013 January, 2013 February, 2013 March, 2013 April, 2013 May, 2013 June & July, 2013 August & September, 2013 October, 2013 November, 2013

[JustAmy]

Graphic by Billie

The Rose
Author Unknown

It is only a tiny rosebud
A flower of God's design;
But I cannot unfold the petals
With these clumsy hands of mine

The secret of unfolding flowers
Is not known to such as I
The flower God opens so gently
In my hands would fade and die

If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
This flower of God's design,
How can I have wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?

So I'll trust in Him for His leading
Each moment of every day,
And I'll look to Him for His guidance
Each step of the pilgrim way

For the pathway that lies before me
My heavenly Father knows
I'll trust Him to unfold the moments
Just as he unfolds the rose

[Pontiac]

“Death Song of a Wood’s Colt”

By Dr, Jubal Harshaw

(Robert A. Heinlein in Stranger in a Strange Land)

“The depths of winter longing are ice within my heart
The shards of broken covenants lie sharp against my soul
The wraiths of long-lost ecstasy keep us two apart
The sullen winds of bitterness still keen from turn to pole

“The scars of twisted tendons, the stumps of struck of limbs
The aching pit of hunger and the throb of unset bone,
My sanded burning eyeballs, as light within them dims,
Add nothing to the torment of lying here alone…

“The shimmering flames of fever trace out your blessed face
My broken eardrums echo your voice inside my head
I do not fear the darkness that comes to me apace
I only dread the loss of you that comes when I am dead.