I wake up in the winter time,

Complain about the cold,

Complain I’m getting fatter,

Complain I’m getting old,

Worry about the wrinkles,

That have formed along my brow,

Recall how fit I used to be,

How weak I’m feeling now,

In the summer I’m complaining,

That the weather’s far too hot,

The bills that I’m receiving,

And the rich man that I’m not,

And it seems I seldom think about,

The blessings I receive,

The Lord works in mysterious ways,

His wonders to achieve,

When the rain falls I’m complaining,

It’s too wet to mow the lawn,

Forgetting it’s that’s very rain,

That brings the flowers on,

Irrigates the ditches,

That help to grow the grain,

It’s a blessing I complain about,

Each time I see the rain,

And winter is the ideal time,

To strengthen family ties,

Roast chestnuts on an open fire,

Snuggle up inside,

And give thanks for all the blessings,

That each of us receive,

The lord works in mysterious ways,

His wonders to achieve,

And the sun that I complain about,

Each time I plough the field,

Is a blessing that I’m grateful for,

With every bumper yield,

The lines across my forehead,

The weight that I’ve put on,

Just proof the Lord’s provided well,

Throughout a life so long,

And the aches and pains I’m feeling now,

That makes me cuss and moan,

Are maybe just the good Lords way,

To say he wants me home,

My work on earth is almost done,

It’s time for me to leave,

For the Lord works in mysterious ways,

His wonders to achieve.

By S.E.Ralph

28-11-2006