Islands in the stream. Kenny. Dolly.
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Gramma’s Legacy in Faith
Where has our grandmother gone?She rests, so calm and still.I thank her for my faith’s first blush.I know I always will.Where gone those eyes of crystal,So quick to smile or sing?O’er-shadowed only lately-Now closed to everything? Where gone that voice of comfort, Heard softly ‘neath life’s roar? Last lilting sick-bed psalms of hope, Now hushed for evermore? How marvelous was her resolve In spite of body pain. How strange her benediction: “Grieve not. To die is gain.” How can I bear the sad loss of That life, that voice, those eyes? But for the Saviour’s promise: “Today in Paradise.” As I gaze long at her dear face Before the eulogy, I know by Spirit’s urging, yet Again her face I’ll see. Gram often praised a pleasant land, Aglow with God’s own love; Astir with tasks for joyful saints, Her rich reward above. As Jesus broke the bonds of death, She trusted for the same, And now, I’m sure he honours her For holding to his name. The casket, shut, abruptly. No tearful face, I must Do hono
Lauren, a ginger disaster.
https://youtu.be/8l5twcFiYd0?si=9e-8fwWPu9YOULkh https://youtu.be/bHszbIHfkGM?si=N4gxA29Xs_gjwHcU https://youtu.be/7AbospKwmf8?si=wACe_6rGsb0t0zh8 Catherine Tate in so many personae.
Spencer always the boss; Borgnine often the bad.
Out of town guy Absorbs trouble Like a sponge. Doesn’t go looking Just shows up. Every feature film The poor guy is Either stranger Or harmonica player. Getting rough treatment. Or fatality. With western campfire My Mom observing TV would blurt out Please oh please Put down that mouth organ Young fellow You should know better.