Rhyme & Reason - a reason to rhyme

Car is in repair shop Front fender plus jobs small, While waiting for the right parts Mechanic, did me, call. 'Twill be a few days to replace, The work that's needing done, So I have FORCED vacation Car ownership - not fun. Of course, look on the BRIGHT side, This forced 'rest', I'll survive, And I was still close 'nough to home, To my mechanic, drive. Had I arrived in Fergus When things had gone awry, I MAY have had to stay the night, Would NOT be happy guy.

       My mother was a worrier Mostly, about her sons, And with me having ep'lepsy Whenever I was young,      She feared the worst would happen Whene'er I was alone, She MUST have been quite FRANTIC, w hen ,  I was out of her zone.     Though HAD to cut the coattails In late teens and beyond, Especially on holidays When travelling 'o'er the pond'       I needed independance, Alone I had to thrive, And that is what good parents do, To teach us to survive.      The first time was the hardest, Her 'baby' - 'all growed up' Had only gone to England, though, No longer, little pup.       As years passed on, more confidence, That I'd survive alone, Eventually would HAVE to When not in parents' zone.         I'm pretty sure, though, through the years, Realising how time flies, That 'ventually I'd HAVE to strive,         So   HAD to cut the ties.

It must be the era of Language and Lit  When both were taught in school  Which gave both of us the yearning for it  And made us two so cool It sure would be great to meet up and fight  And on friendly terms then, we'd leave,  With hopes of another, a friendship of might,  And memories to share and cleave. Alas, with the distance, it doesn't look great  The border, a hindrance, for sure,  But bodily contact, a loving to 'hate'  Is really the only true cure. For yearnings experienced all of the time  When scantly clad bodies entwine,  When pinning opponents, upon them do climb  To make YOUR body MINE. Then as we get closer, in body, as friend,  More comfortable we'd feel  The bout which we started would come to an end  Who'd win? - the jobber or heel?.

                         I had a dream, I was in Heaven,                With all my loved ones, from years gone by.                A choir of angels, proclaimed my entrance,               The greeting, heart’ning from one and all.               Heard my Creator, give a welcoming,               ‘’To the JOY of my dear Lord,’’               No worldly cares, trials, temptations,               Angelic choristers, sang in accord.                I gazed with wonder at all the splendour,                The glorious jewels adorned around,                The streets, they glimmered with many gemstones,                Two dozen elders on radiant thrones.                That Great White Throne, it stood before me,                Earth and Sky did flee away,                It was the Judgement  and thanks to Jesus,                I had escap'ed, that flaming fire.  chorus music                 Now I'm in His Will, and He keeps me steadfast,                 Walks beside me every day,      

                          C ruis ing up the Belfast lough,                                     A   landmark stands so proud,                           R ecognised by all, world wide,                                      R eputed in song, aloud.                                      I   t dates back to  the ‘Norman’ years,                                     C astles then, meant  strength,                                     K eeping watch, both eyes and ears                                     F oreigners, - kept at length:                                     E xtinguished frightful fears.                                     R ugged archetecture,                                     G  randiose, has lasted, long,                                     U  pstanding, is,  that such a fort                                     S alutes this town, so strong.

I read the title of this ode And MOST would think "How true" However, I have ALWAYS felt, Applies NOT, to me and you. For when you see some roses, From 'far, they look so fine, Everything is radiant, This rose garden of mine. BUT, . . . .  for that garden t'flourish well, The 'Gardener' MUST work hard, Pruning deadened leaves and blooms Their bountiousness to guard. His work, not JUST the pruning, The deadened twigs, remove, But also their surroundings, So roots, their Source, can prove. There also are those prickly thorns To tear your skin apart, If e'er (or WHEN) you barge right in And don't think with the heart. HE is the constant 'pruner' So WE will look our best, Give 'Gardener' HIS glory,  'til we gain, eternal rest.