Even the man in the moon, will tell you, he has flaws The brightest stars in the galaxies, will confess their not perfect at all So why do the short, desire to be tall, the large day dream about being small For ugly or beautiful, at some point, that, we've all been inwardly and outwardly called To imperfection, not a choice or election, when void of God, there is no perfection Just mirrored reflections, of a sun damaged self, yet, still loved by the Creator Himself
Very nice!!! May I invite you to join my online poetry class coming up in the spring of 2010? The main gist of the class is to help participants get published, preferably in publications that pay.
Saturday, December 19th 2009 at 6:43AM
Fred Fletcher
