I Must Seek Out Paper
If the words were mine, I should fear for my soul,
For surely pride would betray me.
’Tis better as is, that He is the author,
And I, just a happy pen.
Oft times the words flow in a rapid verse,
And at others a slow line at a time,
But always He directs
I record.
Thus it has been for some time now,
Long I hope it will continue.
In the quiet of night, He stirs my hand,
And I must seek out paper.
I pray, I pray that we shall continue,
For what purpose only He knows,
But I am here when He calls my name,
And I willingly sit at the table.
L. Lapiz 6/6/93