He Calls Me

Busy, busy like a bee.  That’s how it is for me.

There’s a little rhyme to get you in the poem mood.  But then, I just noticed that this poem doesn’t rhyme. Ha, oh well!  I wrote this back in January.  It’s a bit of a girl’s poem but yet, its not, being that the church is the bride.  That's a beautiful thing, isn’t it?

He calls me clay,

I am always being formed.

He calls me His sheep,

I know my Shepherd’s voice.

He calls me His servant,

and I delight to please Him.

He calls me His child,

I am heir to the riches,

and blessings of my Father.

He calls me His beloved,

He loves me and I will always return the love.

He calls me His bride,

what more can I give then leave me parents,

and follow Him?

I’m a bride, awaiting the wedding day,

He will return for me.

For then I will dwell forever in His house.