This is a poem written not by me, but by my maternal grandmother.  She has written hundreds of poems over the years, which all of her descendents like reading and hearing.  Tragically, she now has Alzheimer’s, and can no longer remember who we are, or the things she has written.  I put my faith in the last line of this poem:  “God will always guard His own.”

One day as I was passing by

A garden full of nature’s breeze

A flash of color caught my eyes—

I stopped and looked among the trees.

A mass was all that could be seen

Of leaves and twigs all colored bold,

And then I saw among the green

A little bird, with head of gold.

The forest was its natural home

And nature gave it food to eat.

It never had a thought to roam,

But kept itself both plump and neat.

At once the thought occurred to me

That though we have no earthly home,

That we shall always safely be,

And God will always guard His own.