My Poem

My poem, my poem,
my poem has come home.
Where, oh where did it roam?
Did you hide under a dome?
I sure am glad to have you back.
I sure do miss the large stack
of poems I use to get.
Writing them was no sweat.
Maybe all I have to do is ask,
then I can simply bask
in the enjoyment they bring;
they make me want to sing.
Spirit of God come have Your way,
please come and do not delay.
It is by You the poems come,
You give me more than just some.
May I always be ready,
when poems come steady.