The suns blaire scorches down on sweet air turning it into an open furnace.
No matter which tongue, culture or race, we all hope for Jehovah's grace.
Sweat trickles down my forehead forming a coated dew on my face.
I won't let my zeal get cold as this world grows old.
all this I cannot, will not seem to and do not mind.
New sheep for him I should, I would and I can find.
adrenaline pumps in veins, my feet shuffling as I revel in pure bliss.
This is life! this is happiness! this is peace!
This is something I will allow not to foil.
Day and night I will toil
I am his slave, his to wield.
Nothing's sweeter than the preaching field.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
The things I cherish.
PoesíaWe all cherish a lot of things in our lives be it minor or major things that give us pure contentment. I will like to share mine with you in a poetry form (I'm no good at poetry but, it's just one of the things I cherish)
