The Pluck of a Poet

For my little humble talent
I turn thanks to our God.
Though each time I try to show it
I meet with the world of odds.

Though He blessed me with my gift,
And He will bless me along the way,
He is giving me love and wisdom
And He will bring a brighter day.

These are words of a poor poet,
And what I write is true,
I long to go before the world
To try and show what I can do.

If one could only see me now,
My lips are numb, shows sorrow deep.
This is after my daily labor
That these thoughts through my mind does creep.

God gives me strength to work,
To earn my daily bread,
Then revives me for my writing
To show that my blood is red.

Why swell up o’er talent
Or activeness of brain?
God giveth and he taketh
As easy as it twinkles down rain.