Poets Corner


Read a special poem to a special friend who went to be with the Lord March 3, 2002

In Memory of Duane Milano



Jesus is a way maker,
He made a way for me,
Placed my feet on higher ground,
And set this captive free.

He loosed the chains of bondage
That held my troubled soul,
Fed me from the manna dish,
And took me into His fold.

He's no respector of person,
And he'll do the same for you,
Change your outlook on life,
Bring heaven into view.

Copyright ©June 12, 2000 Barbara Sanders. All rights reserved.
Copy only with permission.



My life is but a weaving between my Lord and me,
I cannot choose the colors He worketh steadily.

Oft times He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride
forget He sees the upper but I the under side.

Not till the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly,
shall God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needed in the Weaver's skillful hand,
as threads of gold and silver in the pattern life has planned.

Benjamin Malachi Franklin (1882-1965)
U.S. Library Of Congress, Washington DC, Card # 20060727210211
Information provided by grandson, Bob Corley.



Dear Lord I want to ask you a question 'bout my life...
The struggles and the trials and the pain and all the strife;
I just can't see and end you know, heaven seems so far away;
Dear Lord would you hurry up and bring the judgement day?

All I want is to go home and see my Saviour there;
I know it must seem selfish when lost souls are everywhere.
But Lord you know I'm homesick and I'm tired and worn out;
This world of sin is so mixed up, Lord, what's it all about?

Did you ever feel this way when you lived as a man?
Did you ever tell the Father you'd had all that you could stand?
Did you ever for a moment wish you weren't so all alone?
Did you ever want to give it up and just go on back home?

I know you know just how I feel and to admit it is no sin;
So is the battle ever over and do Christians really win?
Is the master of deception ever really bound in hell?
The lies he's told about me are too numerous to tell.

Will anyone ever like me or even think that I'm ok?
Enemies are everywhere there's a new one every day.
How can I go on like this and hold my head up high?
Lord you surely don't expect me to go on and try.

Dear Jesus, did you ever find it difficult to pray?
Or did you ever scowl at the dawn of a new day?
Or did you resent the fact that you hung upon a tree,
And died the death of a criminal to save someone like me?

Dear Lord help me remember when things get really tough,
And all I think or pray about is that I've had enough;
Please remind me that you were shamed but didn't hang your head;
And please remind me that it was also for your enemies you bled.

Dear Jesus please remind me in your gentle loving way
That you never once complained about the price you had to pay.
And please keep my heart in tune to all you want to do
In the lives of my enemies who need to know you too.

Melody Powell Rindfuss
Copyright ©1995-2000



Late last night I found myself beside my child's bed;
He was sleeping peacefully as I felt his fevered head.
In my mind debate began as I wondered what was best;
Should I wake him up for medicine or leave him there to rest?
To wait would mean three hours to let the fever rise;
But waking him from peaceful sleep to me seemed less than wise.

So I sat there in the darkness and asked a question silently,
"What do I do?" I asked myself, thinking no one else could see.
And as I asked the question, my Father must have heard;
In a still small voice he answered my silent spoken word.
He said, "Just let me do it, I'll take care of him for you;
You know that I am capable and you know I love him too."

So I left the two together and when I got back to my bed;
My mind wandered as I prayed and in my prayer I said,
"Dear Lord, if I've done something spare him pain and let me see;
And my Father gently told me, "this sickness is not from me."

My mind still was not focused and my prayer kept rambling on;
Until I said again, "Dear Lord, have I done something wrong?
Do I not appreciate this son you've blessed me with;
Have I not cared well enough for this most precious gift?"

Again my Father answered with much patience and great love,
"I told you the child's sickness does not come from above.
This isn't me I told you, but if you'll just leave it in my hands;
I'll work it for good like always and fit it into my great plan."
And as my Father promised, He took care of my son;
The healing wasn't overnight but I know the battle's won.

When my Father comes and asks you to leave someone in His care;
The best thing you could ever do is just to leave them there.
You may not understand it or know exactly what's in store;
But no matter how much you love them, my Father loves them more.

Melody Powell Rindfuss
Copyright ©1995
All Rights Reserved


Walk a Little Plainer, Daddy

Walk a little plainer, Daddy,
Said a little boy so frail,
For I'm following in your footsteps,
And I don't want to fail.
Sometimes your steps are very plain,
Sometimes they're hard to see,
So walk a little plainer, Daddy,
For you are leading me.
I know that you once walked this way
Many, many years ago,
And what you did along the way
I'd really like to know.
For sometimes when I'm tempted,
I don't know what to do,
So walk a little plainer, Daddy;
You know I'm following you.
Someday when I'm grown up,
You are like I want to be;
Then I will have a little boy
Who'll want to follow me.
And I would want to lead him right
And help him to be true,
So walk a little plainer, Daddy,
I'm going to follow you.

The author of this poem is unknown to me. It was read at the funeral of my husbands' brother, Cecil, April 8, 1997.

I received an email from the author of this poem on Feb. 20, 2008.
Author: Janette Ingram Copyright© 1965.


Copyright Kitty Roach

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