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RUBY LUCILLE SMITH
Poetry 3
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Three poems on this page: On This Island, Open The Door My Son, and Our City.

On This Island

 

The foamy white of clouds

       Against a sky of blue,

This day is mine to have,

       All this nature, too.

 

So deep my eyes are seeing,

       So sound my ears do ring

That I can hear my masters voice

       He is my Father and my King.

 

This is time I treasure

       Far above all the rest,

I spend a pause with me

       To live my very best.

 

The earth is a dwelling place

       Where mortals such as I,

Captured by enchanting space

       Are merely passing by.

 

Beautiful earth of many hues,

       The refreshing cool breeze

Sunlight and raindrops, Too,

       All this is loaned to me.

 

Marooned was I upon this earth,

       This island on a sea.

I landed from the ship of birth,

       Now God has rescued me.

OPEN THE DOOR MY SON

 

Open the door of life my son

   For time is when I set you free,

Take with you all your merits won,

   Knowledge, honor and Deity.

 

Of your ship you are the captain

   But always let God be your guide,

Keep your compass toward his Son

   And on the cross where he died.

 

Its hard for me to see you go,

   I ve sheltered you these years

With more love than you could know,

   Through our laughter and our tears.

 

But even as a bird so small

   Teaches its young to fly,

Each must answer his call

   Of life in his good-bye.

 

The teachers labored to help you,

   Make it worth their strife,

Put your knowledge to good use,

   Add to it through your life.

 

Always remember to yourself be true,

   That your truth be found by others;

Never forget that I love you

   And am proud to be your mother.

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    Our City

 

Who owns this city I live in

       Whose name is on the door?

Who lives within these limits,

       Paces across this floor?

 

Can I buy it for the one

       Who will supply it with love?

That we might live abundantly

       That given from above?

 

Money can not buy it

       But deep within my heart

I have payment of tears,

       A prayer that will not part.

 

Yes, you are a dull city

       If you do not love God;

You can not cry for help

       When the tomb has broken sod.

 

You, who love God as I,

       Wont you ask each day

For God to rule our city

       And teach us how to pray.

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