Tomorrow’s my birthday. I read this to one of my daughters who called it a “getting old poem.” I’m sure she meant to say “Happy Birthday, Mom. You’re the best!”
I’m not quite adjusted to fifty,
But here comes fifty-one;
The years are slipping through the glass,
The moments, one by one.
Each passing year reminds me
That time is friend or foe,
To waste or make the most of it-
I will reap what I sow.
So I’ll treasure every moment
As a gift from my Savior’s hand,
And thank Him for His mercy and grace
That have brought me to where I am.
Janice Powell 2014