A Blessing

It seems that God sends blessings
In very mysterious ways.
He always finds the perfect time
To brighten all our days.

He finds someone to be our friend,
Someone who really cares,
A friend to fill the lonely hours;
An answer to all our prayers.

He blesses us all with laughter
And the gift of understanding,
To brighten up the lives of those
Who's needs seem so demanding.

The Lord, He blessed my heart
With many a wonderful friend.
I thank you, Lord, most humbly
For the happiness they lend.

Claytia Doran

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My House Of Friendship

From my house to your house,
The door is open wide
To welcome you, my dearest friend.
For, there is love inside.

Within my cozy little house,
Worldly riches are bare.
But, rich am I in friendship;
So full of love and care.

For, I have the greatest friends
Life could ever send my way.
Thank you for my house of friendship
I share with you each day.

But, no matter what road I travel
Or rich, or poor am I,
I have the finest gift of all
The dearest friends have I.

Claytia Doran

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poetry without first seeking permission from the author.

 

Test Your Love

Trouble falls around you
And, "Where is God?" you say.
You think that He's forgotten you
Or passed you by, today.

You think, when you have troubles,
He forgets that you're alive.
But, you need never worry,
For God has never 'taken five'.

He's there whenever you need Him.
You only have to call.
He's always watching over you,
In case you stumble or fall.

But, sometimes He has to test your love,
To see how much you care.
So, always stand beside Him
And, with Him, your troubles share.

For, He has not forgotten you.
He loves you just the same.
But still, He has to test you -
For you to praise His name.

Claytia Doran

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poetry without first seeking permission from the author.


I'll Fly Away

Has it been that long
Since I sat upon your knee?
You sang to me so sweetly.
I hugged you happily.

Your voice was so strong,
As you sang, "Oh, Glad Day."
You talked about Heaven.
You said, "I'll fly away."

I never really understood
Just what you tried to say.
I only knew I loved you.
I didn't want you to go away.

"Papa loves you, honey,"
Was the last thing you said to me.
Oh, glad day and you flew away.
I wondered why I didn't see.

One glad morning, when his life was o'er
My papa flew away
To his home, on God's celestial shore.
Lord, my papa flew away.

Claytia Doran

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poetry without first seeking permission from the author.

 

A Special Gift

I wanted to give the Lord a gift.
But, what had I for him?
Money was scarce at my house.
Christmas was looking grim.

I went to the store to look for
What I could give my Lord.
It had to be something special,
Something I knew I could afford.

I stood, looking in the window,
When I heard a pitiful sob.
"What's wrong," I asked the woman.
She said, "My husband lost his job.

I can't afford to buy him a gift.
I wish Christmas would never come."
I smiled, as I opened my wallet,
And, from my Christmas money, gave her some.

Now, my money was even less.
But, it's alright, I thought.
I still had enough to pay for
The gift of love I sought.

Then, I saw it, the perfect gift.
But, I, also, saw a child in tears.
I knelt down and took his hand.
Somehow, I had to calm his fears.

"We just don't have any money,"
He said, as he wiped his eyes.
"I wanted to give Mommy a present,
Because I know how hard she tries."

Once again, I opened my wallet
And my last few dollars were given.
Now, I couldn't buy that special gift.
My heart sank as I looked toward Heaven.

"Lord, I wanted to give to you
A gift that came from my heart.
Now, I'm the one with no money."
Then, I felt the teardrops start.

"My Child," the Lord whispered,
"You gave, not one but, two gifts
That came from your heart
And given with love by you."

Claytia Doran

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Talk to God

Where can you go to feel close to God
When they say He's everywhere?
How can I try to talk to God
When I just don't feel He's there?

I know He'll always lend an ear,
No matter where I may be.
I'm sure He's, always, got the time
To listen to a sinner like me.

But, somehow it doesn't seem right
To try and say your prayers
In front of hundreds of people.
Though, I'm sure no one really cares.

But me, I'd rather talk to God
Like Jesus talked to His father,
All alone just me and Him
On a mountain, with no one to bother.

I tell him all my weary troubles
And He makes them seem all right.
Yes, I would gladly talk to God;
Any time of the day or night.

Claytia Doran

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poetry without first seeking permission from the author.

 


Mama and Granny


So many words should have been said,
So many compliments given.
So many tears should have been shed
And so many sins forgiven.

There should have been a tribute,
Chiselled in a monument of stone,
Saying, "Mama and Granny",
The tribute - these words alone.

'Mama' for the love and care
And worries upon her shoulder,
Trying to raise her children,
Watching as they grew older.

'Granny' for the laughter
She shared from day to day.
God bless her for the kindness
She showed along the way.

Yes, so many things needed to be said,
Hurts that needed mending.
But, the Angels have lifted her
From knees that were ever bending.

I'm sure, a Heavenly choir sang
And the Pearly Gates opened wide,
' Welcome home, O treasured one.
Your rewards are waiting inside.'

Claytia Doran

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poetry without first seeking permission from the author.
 

I Know Whose Daughter You Are

I saw a penny on the ground,
Though it wouldn't make me rich by far
I picked it up and someone said,
"I know whose daughter you are!"

My Daddy always picks up pennies
And, with a laugh, he'll say,
"Now, I'm a penny richer
Than I was just yesterday."

He taught me life's important things
But, the most important one, so far,
Is the pride I feel when hearing,
"I know whose daughter you are!"

I have Dad's witty humor
I have his smile and hair
But, it's picking up those pennies
That shows how much I care.

An Angel may have put it there
But, my Dad put them in a jar.
So, it makes me smile each time I hear,
"I know whose daughter you are!"

Claytia Doran

Please respect author copyright, do not use or copy
poetry without first seeking permission from the author.
 




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