My own Bible is what I need,
by Grace R. Baldwin
It's my prize for selling garden seeds.
I ordered my seeds, with pennies and dimes,
Back in the twenties, we had hard times.
The seeds arrived in special packets small.
I could not get my Bible, until I sold them all.
I pestered my family and neighbors,
Till all were sold.
I will buy just a few, I was so often told.
They planted the seeds, and plants came up tall.
They bloomed and grew vegetables till late fall.
Such a fine harvest, of a bountiful crop,
With plenty to share, and pop corn to pop.
I remember my prize and the day it came.
My tiny Bible was inscribed with my name.
I carried that Bible, where'er I did go.
A verse or two, I remembered,
Some words I didn't know.
Jesus Loves Me; this I know,
For that Bible told me so.