The Seasons: A Poem

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Sunrise over Amazing Grasses Family Farm The mad Artist wields His brush, Painted colors rush, To life and give flush, Before the quiet autumn hush. The life seems to pour, As colors fall to the floor, To be seen no more, Outside the dark, grey door. Brightness from below, Sun upon the snow, High, cold clouds blow, Flakes and ice appear to grow. The man melts with little seen, Underneath, pale, grey green, Hides life in dark unseen, Waits for warmth and to careen. Buds on branches show, Patience starts to grow, Trickles, streams and veins flow, Bringing fruits of melted snow. Sprung to life it springs, Bees, birds, sound rings, Lush green flings, Its gift bounty brings. Green growth gives one last rush, Underneath the Painter's brush. The mad Artist wields His brush, before the quiet autumn hush. More poetry is available from James M. Hahn in  The Last Dragon and Other Poems  available now. My new book of cryptogram puzzles " Secret Messages from the Saints " is avai
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Fire from Heaven

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Tuesday October 3rd
Luke 9:51-56 - Samaritans refuse to receive Jesus

The hill of blood
the place of the skull
doth beckon
Thy face is set
none can change
thee with sin shall reckon

Receive you not
nor shall you pass
through Gerizim gate
They turn thee away
and receive you not
for Jerusalem they hate.

Thy men enraged
with unholy zeal
set to command the fire
Tis not Your will
You rule with love
and not the threat of pyre.

Thy gentle tongue
sets hearts aright
as further on you travel.
Thy face is set
on the place of skulls
the grasp of sin to be unraveled.

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