Upon the Vine

How sweet the fruit upon the vine,
Coming to be
Because of Thee.

Made to be food
With a touch of delight,
Feeding body and inviting the soul,
Born of a thousand labors,
Yet dependent on Thee,
You, Giver of sun, earth and seed,
Asking of Man (me),
To but work the Plan.
Then, weathered and together,
Life grows on tree
And takes root in me,
Gratitude tastes the gift,
And speaks my thanksgiving unto Thee.

Copyright 2014 Joann Nelander

All rights reserved

Fishers of Men

O, Lord, what’s it all about,
This “blogging?”
Feeds, links, posts and pings,
So much to learn,
Much more to do.

A world within a world,
A web of letters, syllables, and words,
And people pinging people,
For seeing, or not seeing,
Things just as they do.

Why me? Why a blogosphere?
It won’t make me famous.
It surely won’t make me money.
It won’t even make me friends.

Maybe the Lord is saying:
“Jump in, My friend!”
“That’s were the fish are swimming.”
Fishers of men must use the Net.

By Joann Nelander