Where Mother's sweet face waits, in gentle calm,

And Father sits near and roads an old psalm.

QUESTIONS

If I could brush the cobwebs from my eyes,

What could I see?

If I could roll the boulder from my path,

What would I be?

DISTRUST

He walks the safest way;

There must be no thistles on his path.

He knows all men are clay.

If truth wears feathers in her cap,

They must be plucked away,

That all may proven be.

COUNTING

The morning sun casts purple in the fields,

A mocking bird sings gaily in the oaks,

White fluffy clouds rest in the murky sky.

It is yet cool, the maples scarcely stir,

But noon will burn the grasses by the way

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