IN THE WEE HOUR

Little bit of time is left to think
And express one's deepest thoughts,
In the wee hour between night and sleep.
Too many thoughts and fears may
Crowd my mind and heart, and yet,
All is well indeed, because my
God carries me. What is poetry?

Is this not a very loose poem,
And a very, very loose song?
Unedited, yet flowing well enough,
It drifts to Chopin in the background,
The only man who can capture true
Melancholy and tenderness.

Ah, the wee hour before sleep!
Precious, quiet moment of night!
Thank God for what He's taught.
Am I not satisfied what He's said?

People are not enough, nor will
They ever be, to satisfy or save
In our most urgent time of need.
In woe, or danger, not one will nor can.

People are not enough, nor will
They ever be, to conquer worlds
And hearts unnumbered. Ha!
They are a breath and will be destroyed.

People are not enough, nor will
They ever be; the dearest friend
Like me cannot support you, love.
I am weak, and I shall fail you all.

In my weakness, I am strong,
Not to save, but to live and do.
Praise God, He carries me!
Am I not satisfied with what He's said?