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Edna Carroll Poem
It is only a tiny rosebud,
a flower of God's design;
But I cannot unfold the petals
with these clumsy hands of mine.
The secret of unfolding flowers
is not known to such as I.
GOD opens the flower so sweetly
when in my hands they die.
If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
this flower of God's design,
then how I have the wisdom
to unfold this life of mine?
So I'll trust him for leading
each moment of my day.
I will look to him for guidance
each step of the pilgrim way.
The pathway that lies before me,
Only the Heavenly Father knows.
I'll trust Him to unfold the moments
Just as He unfolds the rose.
Copyright © Edna Carroll | Year Posted 2015
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Edna Carroll Poem
"When I consider Southern Poetry, the soft breeze of grace and majesty of the Old South comes back, like a long ago paradise of flowers, cotton fields, hanging trees and song birds, a sweat savor. Christian Southern Gentlemen and their Ladies Fair, their majestic columned plantation homes; happy children playing before them. But I am reminded also of Confederate Warriors suited for battle, in long gray lines, defending our Southern homeland. Southern Poetry allows me to relive as it were, our history, heritage and culture, like a weary warrior returning for a respite from the ravages of war, but for a moment, return to the splendor, grace and the nobility, a collective memory buried deep within the heart of the South."
My memories are endless.
Copyright © Edna Carroll | Year Posted 2015
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Edna Carroll Poem
I was just a little donkey
carrying a Special Load.
A weary Joseph led me...
and on my back, Mary Rode.
Mary was tired and cold
and needed a place to rest.
I tried to walk gently,
eager to do my best.
Inns in Bethlehem were crowded !!
No Innkeeper could let her stay
and could only offer them
A stable with a manger of hay.
Noise of the animals awoke me...
and I glanced at the Manger bed..
I witnessed that night, A MIRACLE!!!
The Baby laid down His Sweet Head..
Of all the other donkeys ..
I was most blessed than all of them...
Because I was the chosen donkey
to take Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem
Copyright © Edna Carroll | Year Posted 2015
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Edna Carroll Poem
Sunrise found the farmers waiting
at the grits mill by the stream.
With the sound of grinding corn,
neighbors worked as a team.
Sharecropping is just a memory...
No more tobacco to be strung~
Cottonpicking is now mechanical.
There is no redneck song to be sung.
I am a redneck and proud of it.
We are a special breed.
Don't get on our 'fighting side'.
We stand up for what we believe.
We buy syrup in a bottle.
The grits mill grinds no more.
Vegetables don't taste the same~
We buy them from a store.
No backache from picking cotton~
Hands aren't bleeding and sore.
The grits mill has crumbled
Times just aren't the same anymore...
*correct spelling-grist
*(Southern Pronunciation = grits)
Copyright © Edna Carroll | Year Posted 2015
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Edna Carroll Poem
Daddy walked behind the rusted plow
as I tried to follow his footprints.
'cause Daddy's shoes were so big,
my little feet just would not fit.
The hot sun made Daddy sweat
but Nellie Belle seem not to mind.
Often she walked that 'ole field
and her master walked behind.
Times were hard for Moma and Daddy
and as a child I did not know~~
I was a sharecropper's daughter
and we were very poor~
Seeing Moma with needle and twine,
I didn't realize his shoes were torn.
I played and ran outdoors
and secretly threw the hogs his corn~~
I often wander back in time.....
to those days, so innocent and free,
when we plowed the 'ole fields~~
my daddy, Nellie Belle and me.
Copyright © Edna Carroll | Year Posted 2015
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Edna Carroll Poem
When I exchange life's rugged cross
for Eternity's crown;
my soul is rid of sorrow,
my burden all laid down...
I will trade my rags so wretched
for a grown of white.
When I see Jesus,
everything's 'gonna be all right.
No more tears will wet night's darkness,
no more loneliness and dread~
no more fearing the future
nor of what may be ahead.
No more guilty pain of faulting,
nor pangs of yesterday,
I'll have reached Life Immortal
in the True and Living way~
Copyright © Edna Carroll | Year Posted 2015
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Edna Carroll Poem
I sat on a redwood dock
in the town of Crescent City.
My mom had recently died.
and my heart was full of pity.
South Carolina is my home
but I needed to flee.
Under cold and starry skies
tugboats pulled big ships out to sea.
I felt like the little boats.
I've struggled to do my best.
As big ships gathered speed,
the tugboats returned to rest.
Eyes focused to see the redwoods,
only God could create.
No one can deny the miracle,
the redwoods that He made.
The great Pacific Ocean,
miles from my eastern shore,
Mom has crossed her ocean.
She rests, now, forever more.
Copyright © Edna Carroll | Year Posted 2015
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Edna Carroll Poem
Angels in Heaven,You've held him so long!
He's painted your skies brighter hues
while I've sat alone crooning a song~
holding his little blue shoes.
In the stars that twinkle above
though the blue of the skies,
shines again the light of his love
Coming straight from his own blue eyes.
On the shifting and dancing moonbeams
that reach from Heaven to earth,
I see my sweet baby in dreams
drifting to the Land of his birth.
In the curve of the rainbow
I see the smile of his baby lips
and a bit of Heaven comes below
to the mother who of sorrow sips.
Angels in Heaven, who guard my trust,
shelter him from all harm-
till I shall pass from "dust to dust"~~
waking with him in my arms.
Copyright © Edna Carroll | Year Posted 2015
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Edna Carroll Poem
She was the hub in my wheel.
Her love guided me day by day.
My wheel will forever be broken because
the One I was attached, has gone away.
Memories continue to linger
and grief continues to flow.
I wasn't there to hold her hand
when she finally had to go.
I love her more each passing day
as the years crawl slowly by.
The Hub in my Wheel, the Center of my World
was that Precious Mama of mine.
Copyright © Edna Carroll | Year Posted 2015
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Edna Carroll Poem
He was getting old and forgetful,
and his hair was turning grey,
and he sat around the Legion,
telling stories of another day.
Of a war that he once fought in
and the deeds that he had done,
in his exploits with his buddies,
they were heroes, everyone.
And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors
his tales became a joke,
all his buddies listened quietly
for they knew whereof he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer,
for ole' Gregg has passed away,
and the world's a little poorer
for a soldier died today.
Copyright © Edna Carroll | Year Posted 2015
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