This is a poem done in ballad stanza that I wrote for a dying Christian who was a real saint. His life blessed us all in Xenia, Ohio.

I can hear my trumpet blowing
Which beckons from afar.
Come hither to me my pilgrim,
And leave your broken jar.

Weep not about this mortal flesh,
Life's journey nearly spent,
Rather look upon chosen path
As talent Christ has lent.

Does account brim with interest,
Two or three, seven times?
Or does his vessel stand empty
Trifled on self and grime?

Travel I must to Heaven's home
Released from earthly pain.
Are you prepared to do as such
When shell to moss is lain?

In memory of Marvin Beam

| Return to Poetry Index |
| Seniors-Site Homepage | E-Mail | Site Master |