(God’s Sonnet by Timothy J. Verret; “it’s how I cope to hope for ‘all good gifts around me are sent from Heaven above, so I thank the Lord for all His Love'”)
You possess not land of milk and honey.
The milk is rank; honey stresses the bees.
You are not of this land. What of money
can buy you time to set your soul at ease?
I’m possessed of Jesus. Too, am unheard.
The land and people have abandoned us.
I hang with Jesus. They cast lots. We’re stirred
in our deepest souls. Now, He and I thus
“are buried, will be raised on the 3rd day,
according to the Scriptures. “We’re dying!
O Lord, we’re bleeding! We’re dead!” We can’t stay
in the land no more; our souls are flying!
We are landless, not of our own control.
We are Skymore. “O Lord, possess our soul.”