Poem by Annette Adams
The last of all the seasons has arrived,
It’s turning cold.
The plants and trees need make-up,
They all wake up looking old.
The ground is brown and dusty,
Grass is rusty-turning gray.
How could this end up lovely?
Only God could find a way.
He’ll sometimes cover bleakness
With a blanket, snowy white,
Or He’ll top it with a frost
To make it glisten with delight.
He’ll find the perfect hanging place
For freezing rain that trickles
Down the faces of the windows
Making stalactical icicles.
And then we’ll need that fireplace
To do its special part;
The flames, we know, will bring a glow
To both our room and heart.
Yes, last of all the seasons has arrived
And may seem cold,
But a different form of beauty
Is beginning to unfold.
Soon there’ll be no summer, spring,
No wintertime, or fall,
In “that season” spent with Jesus
There’ll be no more time at all.
“Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today and forever.”—Hebrews 13:8