I sat down this evening to try to write a poem with the title ‘Atlantic Plans’ (week three) but although it had the phrase in it, it didn’t seem an appropriate title. Nevertheless, it turned out not to be the worst poem I’ve ever written. Maybe when I can get hold of the piano, I’ll sit down and write some music for it. I was actually thinking of a friend of mine when I wrote it, we used to be close but he had Atlantic plans of his own and my heart was somewhat closer to the South Pacific. The thing is that man can make his plans but the Lord directs his steps whether we believe in Him or not. Some people see that as a restriction on their freedom but I find it more of a comfort because I can rest in peace knowing that even though I should think about what to do and perhaps make plans, it’s all in the Lord’s hands isn’t it? As the Aussies say: No worries 😉
Little Preacher Boy
Hey little preacher boy, are you listening to me?
Or is it the white dress and picket fence all you can see?
Holding on to my cold hand,
Making your atlantic plans,
Is it God’s voice or just the American Dream?
Little preacher boy, tell me what is life?
Is it a cosy church and a sweet young wife?
Tell me preacher boy, where’s the sacrifice
In being swept away in the perfect life?
Sorry preacher boy, I can’t take your hand
To join in your atlantic plans.
I’ll pray the Lord makes you a godly man
But you must go alone to your Promised Land.
Hey little preacher boy, din’t mean to make you sad
But when you’re heart’s healed again, you won’t feel so bad;
What’s for you will not pass you by.
Trust in God and don’t you cry,
I hope your atlantic plans will make you glad.