In Loving Memory of
Sarah Elizabeth Cowling

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Sarah Cowling
Sarah Cowling

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Caught up in a web
of clocks and calendars
we rush through our lives.
Technology has brought us to
a point of doing nothing ourselves.
We suppose we have gained time,
yet we race the hours away.
How often do we watch as
ducks waddle by
the sun rises and sets
without our notice
yellow butterflies give pollen to the
azaleas and daisies
yet these little miracles
pass us by.
Sarah Cowling
Sarah Cowling
The sweet smell of a new baby
reminds us of our mission,
of our Heavenly Father's love,
of our return to him.
We have so much yet
we notice so little.
The feel of the autumn breeze
running its cool
fingers through my hair
the harmony of an old gospel song
soothing my tired bones
the soft green carpet that massages
my tough Indian feet.
Oh, that I were a painter
to make a memory of this beauty.
Oh, that I were a bird,
to fly and touch the endless sky.
Tiny Angel
Tiny Angle
 How can we give this wealth
up for malls or condos?
The miracles of God are here
for the taking,
yet we give them up
without a moment's hesitation.

by                    
Sarah Cowling          
December 1991          

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