Under The Mountain, Over The Hill Poem by Lewis Findley
Under The Mountain, Over The Hill
Once I was a young man, now I am old.
I once yearned for wintry for hot was in my blood.
Now I yearn for spring, for oft I seem grow cold.
Aye the sun south warm an old man's bones.
As oft tears stain his eyes.
In the age of his contented zeal
God willing he has grown wise.
To te of Christ to a world
To list and Gove him ear.
As he the humble shower, some seed there and some here
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4/16/2024 8:00:50 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Growing wise with God's will is always wonderful in poem shared really. Nice drafting.