The Babbler

The Babbler sits at the corner
His voice an instrument
Broken since birth
What does he say
What does he say
And comes forth words
Like a muddied stream
Which none can understand

The Babbler sits at the corner
Give him some paint
Give him a brush
What does he say
What does he say
Watch the brush dance
As it renders a secret  world
That only he can understand

The Babbler sits at the corner
Give him some paper
Give him a pen
What does he say
What does he say
The pen glides gently
And speaks of hidden things
So that all might understand

The Babbler sits at the corner
Give him a flute
He needs no notes
What does he say
What does he say
Close your eyes to listen
To the song he could not sing
So that you may understand

Aidan Raudenbush

I am so excited and proud to publish my very first guest contribution, this award-winning poem by my 13-year-old son. He is a spiritually intuitive young man.

 

About Julia

Welcome! I'm so glad you stopped by. My name is Julia. I am a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a teacher, and most recently, a writer. Above all, I am a daughter of the King. I am constantly amazed at God's goodness in my life; undeserved and unlimited. Come sit and visit awhile. The teapot's always on the stove.
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