To God be the glory

The Poet

He was out on the highway, and the moon was his guide
We stopped for a coffee, when I gave him a ride
I said, where are you going, he said, any place is fine
We'll all be home someday, it's just a matter of time
I will always remember, how his face showed the years
His hands how they trembled, as he fought back the tears
When he showed my a picture, of a lady with a child
Then he spoke in a whisper, and he began to smile
I was a poet, a master of rhyme
She was still young then, she was still in her prime
We had a good life, there were songs to be sung

She was a good wife, she gave me a son

He was a fine boy, we watched him grow

Then war shook our nation, and he had to go

She died from a heartache, when he died in vain

And I die a little more, everyday

This picture holds a memory, this is all that is mine

For I am a poet, a master of rhyme

Written by Bruce Moss

To God be the glory