Morning Thoughts That Turn to Prayer

Will I search till eyes grow dim,
And back is bent and arms are weak?
Will I find my hope in Him,
Or travel past for what I seek?

Will that first redeeming love
Keep it’s root till I grow old?
Or will I die a poor sad man
In his silence growing cold?

Let He who first begun the work
Do His bidding in my soul
And let the fire burn the straw
That what is left may keep me whole.



I always hate the morning best
in the best way you can hate something
I wait for it to pass and rest
In its grave till the morrow’s morning.

I wonder when it comes again
Every time a sad surprise
You’d think I’d know its schedule
And be more quiet when I rise.

But every morning it comes again
And every morning I wish its death
But days just never start at noon
Despite what’s said under your breath.


Even here in the desert

The morning’s cool hangs full

And out there in the sagebrush

Is possibility.


The night has finally ended

And the sun come round again

Perhaps this day will differ

From all the others.


Someone has a rooster

Down the road a ways

It always feels the need to sing

Or so I tell myself.


But with the gentle morning

Comes another chance

And all that went before

May not come again.