SEPTEMBER

September morn so damp and chill
blanketed by mist, far hill,
blue sky lined by jet plane tracks
to the day, drying leaves, have turned their backs,
upon the blue jays taunting call
that boldly jeers oncoming Fall.

The garden plants all fading, spent
their fruits on shelves and freezer sent,
await their gleaning to fulfill
their destiny on compost hill,
in the hope that in the Spring
their remains, new life will bring.

Hearts are saddened by the waning
of Summer days their beauty paining,
soon to be but memories
full of fun, sweet reveries,
lead us into Autumn scenes aglow
with richness only God bestows.

Margaret Rose Larrivee
Sept. 12, 1995

A PLACE CALLED SILENCE

In prayer I call upon the Lord
to come and comfort me,
with trembling lips and body
in the place where He will be.

It is a place called silence
where I go to visit Him,
a place that is not of this world
to my soul, He dwells therein.

I have opened up my lonely heart
and swept it deep within,
and made a perfect resting place
for Him a spotless shining inn.

A place where I can visit
when the world around me spins,
a place of holy silence
where I commune with Him.

Out of our communion comes
the need for me to be,
transformed into His image
it’s what He asks of me.

Margaret Rose Larrivee
Sept. 1, 1995

A PLACE CALLED SILENCE

In prayer I call upon the Lord
to come and comfort me,
with trembling lips and body
in the place where He will be.

It is a place called silence
where I go to visit Him,
a place that is not of this world
to my soul, He dwells therein.

I have opened up my lonely heart
and swept it deep within,
and made a perfect resting place
for Him a spotless shining inn.

A place where I can visit
when the world around me spins,
a place of holy silence
where I commune with Him.

Out of our communion comes
the need for me to be,
transformed into His image
it’s what He asks of me.

Margaret Rose Larrivee
Sept. 1, 1995