WILMA’S SONG
A child is born, and
heaven sings
And the song moves
into our heart
Through childhood
days the song replays
As it becomes a part
Of who we are and how
we live
In our body and our
spirit
Sometimes so
plain,sometimes in pain
So deep we hardly
hear it.
Some people never
share their song
They mute it in their
living;
Their melodies, in
minor keys
Are never heard, or
given
To those who wait to
hear the tune.
They listen, but in
vain
For a harmony they
cannot see,
And a song that no
one sang.
It was not so with
Wilma’s song
She sang it loud and
clear
Her voice was raised
in songs of praise
Her fingers had no
fear
As they flew across
her much loved guitar
The harmonies rang
out
And chords were made
as the strings she played
And the song left never
a doubt
That the joy in her
heart came from deep within
And she wanted the
world to know
So she sang it loud
and she sang out proud
For as long as she
could go.
While some might
think her voice is stilled
That her song has
come to an end
We know the truth - as
in days of youth
She is singing, and
playing again.
For Wilma now sings
with the angel choir
In eternity so long
For the song God
gives forever lives
And the melodies
linger on
In a land of bliss
where there is no night
And sickness is never
a care
Where the angels sing
heaven’s sweet refrain,
What joy when we meet
her there.
Written by Joan
Rowden Hart on August 14, 2006.
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