It’s been one of the longest weeks at work and though I truly enjoy the new position, I’m tired. For that reason, I’m posting some poems instead of my usual blog. The first one I wrote when I was in high school, the second by my mother and the third by a friend of mine.  Hope you enjoy them.


by LJ Fetters

What are words

but a sentence

What are sentences

but a poem

What is a poem

but a song

what is a song

but words



The following poem was written by my mother who is since deceased. I have no idea when or why she wrote it, but I thought to share it with the world.

Sorry to update this after it’d been posted and it is my bad that I hadn’t checked before hand. The poem I attribute to my mother, turns out was not written by her but by a young Nova Scotia woman.  As many of you know, my mother passed away over twenty years ago after a long battle with cancer. She wasn’t an overly religious woman at the time, but she had been when younger. I found the poem among many of her personal writings, letters, papers, and as it had her name at the bottom, as what looked like a signature, I assumed, never a good idea, that she had penned it. My bad for not checking; however, I had no reason not to believe it was written by her. As it turns out, my sister knew of the poem and pointed me in the right direction. It’s still a good poem, poignant and moving. I apologize for the incorrect information.


The End of the Way

My life is a wearisome journey;  I’m sick of the dust and heat

The rays of the sun beat upon me; the briers are wounding my feat

Will more than my trials repay

all the toils of the road will seem as nothing

When I get to the end of the way.


There are so many hills to climb upward; I often am longing for rest

But he who appointed my pathway;  knows just what is heedful and best

I know in his words he has promised

that my strength shall be as my day

When I get to the end of the way


When the last feeble steps have been taken; and the gates of the city appear

And the beautiful songs of the Angels; float out of my listening ears

When all that seems now so mysterious; will be plane and as clear as day

Yes, the toils of the road will seem as nothing

When I get to the end of the way.


Though now I am foot-sore and weary; I shall rest when I’m safe at home

I know I shall receive a glad welcome; for the savior himself has said “Come”

So when I am weary in body and sinking in spirit I say

All the toils of the road will seem as nothing

When I get to the end of the way.


Cooling fountains are there for the thirsty; there are cordials for those who are faint

There are robes that are whiter and purer; then any that fancy can paint;

Then I’ll try to press hopefully onward; thinking of that each weary day

The toil of the road will seem as nothing

When I get to the end of the way.




This last poem is written by one of my best friends throughout high school, Lorene Garrett.  Go see what else she’s written on her website. She’s an amazing women.



Here today

Gone tomarrow

Full of joy

Full of sorrow