FROTH

This is a poem written by mum's friend a few weeks before he died and i thought it was pretty cool


FROTH
I stood in the queue at Terminal Two, clutching so hard to my pack.
Collection of things, success on earth brings, was proud of my plan of attack.
I hope to drop all on the mercy of scales and plead for them to let through,
My trappings of life and proof of success, would impress those who gaze at my view.

Yet I had to wait alone at the gate, for attention i thought i was due.
At last he stood there to process my fare, missunderstanding my stew.
Official unfazed, one question he raised, as i contiued to wheedle;
Will it fit through the eye of God's needle?
Or is it a camel parade?

There were medals i'd earned for being humble, the letter i'd got from the queen,
The plates from my new Lamborghini, a record of stocks i have sold,
A large portrait framed of my day in the sun with friend from Capitol Hill,
Certificate proof of mansion in Greece and treasure chest lined with gold.

So vainly i tried to slip and slide, those items attached to my dream.
All that would fit were my ticket and me, plus the treause, i'd sent on before.
Everything else was rejected as froth, tagged hay, wood and stubble or straw.
I gazed in dismay at rejected array, shed tears as they swept the floor.

A lesson i learned from suoveniers spurrened is we travel light on that flight.
Invest enough time in things that will rhyme with skill in demand on that shore.
What are the things so important in life? Which the seeds that transplant?
Point out the stones that are precious to God and hurdles i need to surmount.

What would i take in the lifeboat, if Titanic slipped down from my grasp?
What would i say to my children, if just three words could i grasp?
What would i save from the furnace, if my house succumbed to the flames?
And what could i bring my Saviuor, sufficent to lay at His feet?

In view of eternity why should i fret? Why should i worry and care?
Whether the carpet is purple or green and whether the cushions do match.
How many times was my profile displayed and did everyone know my fame.
Why should i froth if my rainbow was sold? I can't take my oil wells to heaven.

So much of time is invested in things, or glitter that fades right away,
Chasing the fashion demanded by Vogue, or watching the soaps on the screen.
Observe how excitement of drunken delight hangs over the stench of next day.
While time spent in prayer or seeking the losts invests in a world unseen.

If God restricted my life to one day, what would i do with that time?
Could i sign off on a life deemed well done, respected, fulfilled and transferred?
Could i look back on a life lived for God, and selfless devotion to souls?
Or would i just panic in hopeless regret, and rue wasted years spent in vain?

A passport secured by His death on the Cross is the item most vital i own,
A focus on Christ and what He requires will lift me past death to His throne.
Meanwhile i shall act in the standard laid down, love in a most tender way.
And walk past the froth to a humble repose, as i pack added value each day.

Written by Allan Diprose, on 13th June 2004