It’s the Poet in Me I Suppose

Yours truly, on my sixteenth birthday, September 2010

An enthusiastic foodie
One who loves a cozy place
Loves to beautify a pastry
Doesn’t care much for a race
Happy when between the fine-rooms
And the Kitchen, there’s no line
Who prefers bare-feet and mushrooms
—Second breakfast would be fine
With a fireplace and bookshelf
Veggies and a rambling rose
I’ll be quite contented; it’s the
Hobbit in me I suppose

There’s a love of northern country
Love of sailing, East, and sea
Longing for a king who’s mighty
Longing for eternity
There is more in life than seeing
More than just the tangible
One to follow, never fleeing
Follow One more capable
Lion and the Lamb is leading
Follow to our last repose
With our eyes on Glory; it’s the
Narnian in me I suppose

Ears alert for evening loon cries
Basking in the cricket choir
Keeping eyes out for an owl prize
Or a red-tail on the wire
A canoe-ride in the sunset
Building newspaper-less fires
Hiking out in arctic air that
Gives us vigour, rarely tires
Hear the wolves and walk the shoreline
Feel the wood-smoke in your nose
Set your compass northward; it’s the
Ely in me I suppose

I’m redeemed: a saint and sinner
Justified by grace alone
I’m an ally of the winner
Trusting blood that shall atone
I’m becoming Jesus’ sister
By His grace alone and power
He defends me from the tester
And is with me every hour
Christ—a lover, great and worthy
I’m the wretch He stooped and chose
Let us spread His gospel; it’s the
Savior in me who arose