a little book of prose-poetry ... 92

Some think it a fable,

How could it be true?

There’s a land somewhere

In this whole wide world

Where everyone and everything

Is given its due, its loving care;

Nowhere is there hunger,

None without love;

All within WhimsiLand,

Strangers alike,

In God’s own way

Live but to share;

Are here to stay.

— Garry D. Kilbourn

a little book of prose-poetry ... 91

With but a few 

Deft strokes

Of pencil and brush

My likeness; that is

The real me, is here

For all to see.

In awe, the artist’s 

Cry rings true:

“It’s not of mine,

But God’s own hand

That gave me you.”

— Garry D. Kilbourn

a little book of prose-poetry ... 90

No doubt by now

You will have guessed

Today I’m wearing

My Sunday best.

The ornamental garland

You see in my hair

Is much-loved WhimsiLand

Traditional wear

To honour those

Who’ve gone before;

Whose values are those

We daily adore:

“Do unto others

As you would have them

Do unto you.”

’Tis God’s voice

We are hearing

And know it is true.

— Garry D. Kilbourn

a little book of prose-poetry ... 89

Come, walk with me

Through the woods.

We need not go far

To feel a warming light;

To hear nature’s silent cry

That so becalms the soul

And tells us we are one

With All.

— Garry D. Kilbourn