Love without clinging
cry if you must –
The candle flames of poplars,
in the little coves burn low;
Is the tree that is pruned
preoccupied with pain? . . .
They come and go so quickly
Spring and Fall . . .
As Mother’s Day approaches, we take a look at a poem written by Ruth Bell Graham on motherhood, as well as reflections from Franklin Graham on his mother.
O tenderest Love, How we do fail through our own folly…
“With this ring…” your strong, familiar voice…
We hope you will be inspired by this writing by Ruth Bell Graham.
from Sitting By My Laughing Fire by Ruth Bell Graham
A poem from “Sitting By My Laughing Fire” by Ruth Bell Graham