The words flow from my pen, across the clean white page,

And tell the story that is in my mind.

But then I wonder when, throughout this day and age,

The words I write will all get left behind.

The chapters slowly grow, and my excitement climbs,

For in my mind I see a published book.

But in myself I know, that though it all may rhyme,

Will it be worth even the slightest look?

Perhaps I should now stop, and leave it be at last,

And leave the pen to all of those who know.

But if my work I drop, and quiet the hidden past,

Will many in their ignorance now go?

I feel I must go on, and tell things as they were,

And what God did in lives of countless men.

To tell the right from wrong, so all who read may know,

That those who trust His name shall live again.

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