Judy's Realm of Sunshine and Smiles - Claytia Doran Poetry Collection 3

Jesus, Be The Daddy
In Our House

I'd wake her up, each morning,
With a kiss and a song.
I'd tell her, "Thanks to Jesus,
Nothing, today, could go wrong."

Breakfast and a daily devotion
Would get us on our way,
I was fighting to be strong.
A single mother greets the day;

School and work and volleyball,
Homework, burgers, and a hug.
The only thing missing was a daddy
And my heartstrings felt the tug.

Then, as we knelt by her bedside,
My daughter made me realize
I was not so alone, after all,
Because I had seen through her eyes.

"Jesus, be the daddy in our house,"
Was the innocent prayer she said.
And, He was the daddy in our house,
As we both tucked her into bed.

© by Claytia Doran

~~ The Greatest Man ~~

The greatest man I've ever known
Has always been my dad.
The fact I never told him so
Has often made me sad.

Tall and proud, and quiet
The world upon his shoulder;
Daddy, have I ever told you?
Or, did I wait until you got older?

Did I wait to say 'I love you',
When I should have said it before?
Did I, somehow, waste a lifetime
Wishing I had said it more?

The greatest man I've ever known
Has always been my dad.
The fact I'm telling him, now,
Makes my heart so glad.

"SONFLOWER"

I saw him planting in his garden.
He covered the seed with care,
Nourishing it with Miracle Grow;
For the miracle would grow there.

The sun shone upon the seed
And the rains quenched it's thirst.
Blessings were heaped upon it,
For this flower would be the first.

Peeking out from under the dirt,
The flower saw the hands.
Strong, yet kind, as they molded him
To handle what the earth demands.

The flower reached up to the sky,
Looking for strength and power.
He found it in the Master's hands.
For, he was the "Sonflower".

© 2004 by Claytia Doran

~~ My Mother, That's Who ~~

Who would send me flowers,
When my heart was heavy laden?
Who would shout and clap for me,
Whenever I felt like paradin'?

Who would listen, very thoughtfully,
Whenever I'd just have to boo hoo?
Who always thinks I'm special,
No matter what I do?

Who always seems to love me,
Even whenever I'm crying?
Who always pats me on the back,
When she sees how hard I'm trying?

Who is the angel in disguise?
Who is proud of things I do?
Who do I love with all my heart?
My mother, that's who.

© Claytia Doran

~~ EVERY ~~

Someone once asked me
How I'd describe my mother.
I knew that I could tell them,
Using one word and no other.

That very word is every.
Now please, let me explain.
Who is there every time I'm sick,
Or every time I am in pain?

Who was there for every function
And for every tear I cried?
Who sees every fault I have,
Yet knows every time I tried?

Who loves me, every single day,
And knows my every hope?
Who watches every step I take
And pushes every time I mope?

Mother means so much to me.
She's every song I sing.
She's the apple of my eye.
She is my 'every' thing.

~~ She Painted Me A Picture ~~

She painted me a picture.
Heaven flowed from her brush.
God must have touched the painting,
For it told my heart to hush.

Be silent and look at the beauty.
For the picture tells a tale
Of God's unending miracles
And promises that never fail.

Trees, clouds, and mountains,
A log cabin by the stream,
Sunlight filtering through the leaves;
It was straight from a dream.

Yes, she painted me a picture.
In it, I saw her heart.
Heaven flowed from her brush
And God said, "This is art!"

© 2004 by Claytia Doran

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