Poetry by Paul Wayne Carroll

We would like to introduce you to our Dad. What can we say, he is the BEST!!! He loves his family with all of his heart. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for us. He loves to write poetry and has written in his journal, every day, since he was 16 years old. We treasure each and every one of his poems and we hope you will to. Sit back, relax and enjoy.


It’s built of bricks and mortar
Of glass, and wood well grained.
It’s shingled and it’s shuttered
To protect us from the rain.

It’s in a nice part of town,
And on a well kept street
Often bringing forth compliments
From those who along the way we meet.

It’s a house we can be proud of
Wherever we may roam-
But it’s the folks who live inside it
That makes this house a home.

A home isn’t just made of things
Mentioned heretofore.
A home is made of people
Both in the present and in times of yore.

A home is made of smiles and tears,
Of counsel and of hugs,
Of quite conversations and confidences sure.
It’s made of moms and dads and children by the score.
It’s enriched by goodly grand folks
A coming through the door.

A home is made of prayers and song,
Of courtesy and love.
A home becomes a home
When blessed by Heaven above.
A home becomes a home, you see,
When folks come through the door.

A house is bricks and mortar,
And yard and all you see.
But home is where my loved ones are,
Who are so dear to me.
Yes, home is where my heart is
Both now and eternally.
Paul Wayne Carroll, April 18,1996


Little arms reach up to me.
Small hands grasp for mine.
Upturned faces shine with glee.
And short, small legs climb mine.

“It’s grandpa,” comes the happy shout
As they tumble out the door.
My heart melts inside my chest,
Who could ask for more?

“Hey grandpa, come and read to me,
I have a great new book.”
“My dolly has a brand new dress,
Please come and have a look.”

“Grandpa, I need some help
On a project at my school.
Can you tell me about your life and
Make it something that’s real cool.”

Older arms reach out for hugs,
For blessings at my hand.
Other hearts seek counsel,
Saying, “I knew you’d understand.”

It is a time of happiness,
This “grandpa time,” you see.
There is joy in hearing “grandpa” called
When I know it’s meant for me.

Paul Wayne Carroll, October 27, 2001


Within my heart there dwells today
Gratitude and praise,
For my fathers and my mothers
In these and former days.

Hours of love and caring,
Of discipline and praise,
Of kisses and of cradling,
All bless my life today.

How much we owe to times now past
In ancestral families true,
For that which actuates our lives,
And helps us to be true.

How thankful we should ever be
Each and every day
That generations of parents past
Kept love as their own way.

I believe with all my heart
That parents kind and true
Are owed the praise and honor
If we are good and true.

For what is fine and good in me,
And I suspect in you,
Had as its genesis
Parents kind and true.

If I am a good father
To those who’ve come to me,
It’s due in large measure
To that which was given, by mine, to me.

Paul Wayne Carroll, June 29, 1998


I sit quietly in my room
In the stillness of this night
And wonder.
Thoughts like fleeting deer
Scamper over the hillsides of my consciousness.
I wonder at God’s love
And the mystery that he knows my name and place.
I ponder at the selfless love of she that loves me
And feel amazement that with all my
Imperfectness that it is true-
And I am grateful.
I wonder at the love of Christ,
And the atonement that he wrought
That included me.
I am awash with amazement
And comprehension of how
It was done escapes me,
And yet I know in my depths that it is so.
The wonder of my children, and my children’s children,
And their children yet to come engulfs me
Like a mighty wave.
The consciousness of the fathers and
Children that are now past that
Lead to me overwhelms me.
I see hands joined in a chain
Whose links reach back to the Father
And forward past where I can see
And I sit in wonder.
I sit wrapped in the wonder
Of how the world is as it is.
I am conscious of the generalizes
Of the unfolding but wonder at the details.
My wondering is caught up in the words
Of my mind saying, “in due time.”
I sit quietly in my room
In the stillness of the night
And wonder.

Paul Wayne Carroll, November 17, 2002


I’ve got a forehead like Uncle Ken.
My nose is like my Grandpa George.
My mouth is shaped just like my dad’s,
My eyes are like my mom’s you see,
And I have a chin like Uncle Par,
I have hair like Uncle John, not much, it’s mostly gone.
I have ears like Uncle Dick.
I hope the time may never come that they will want them back
Because then would come my greatest fear–
My head would completely disappear.

Paul Wayne Carroll, July 24, 2017


There is a wondrous secret
That all must come to know.
It is to enjoy the journey
God has given us here below.
Life’s journey has its phases
From cradle to ancient days.
Each portion has its promises,
They are ours each day to claim.
Each portion has its problems
Inscribed there by our name.
There is much of wasted time
As one sorrows o’er one’s lot
But we must all remember
That sorrow profits not.
It is only in living that
Joy overcomes despair.
It’s only in looking forward
That we enter the promised somewhere.
Don’t wish for each time of life to be past
For then you’ll miss God’s purpose
In giving both first and last.
Enjoy the journey as you go along.
It is a good course,
Best lived with heartfelt song.
Take joy in the journey
For Heaven can be here.
Take joy in your loved ones.
Take them by the hand.
For then will come the future
Beyond the veil in the promised Land.

Paul Wayne Carroll, May 29, 2004


Many years ago, when I was just a lad,
My dad would make up verses
To help our souls be glad.
One day as we were working,
In the field, I believe,
He paused and said,
“Here’s a verse for you.”
I thought, “Now what’s up his sleeve.”
He struck a pose quite dignified
And quoted grandly these two lines
Of a Whittier poem, and a couple of his own, so fine.
He said, “I shot an arrow into the air.
It fell to earth I know not where.
Then I heard my neighbor swear.
It must have landed over there.
Silence fell on the stage so grand,
And he said, “On the other hand,
Let’s get back to work and ponder my new thoughts, my man.”
This little story poem may help you understand
Why I write the way I do.
It’s my sire’s fault,
I joy to take his hand.

Paul Wayne Carroll, February 24, 2017


In the middle of the night-
I knew it ‘cause there was no light-
My eyes popped open, I was right.
My brain clicked on and I began to think.
It told me I was thirsty, so I arose and took a drink.
I sat my glass down on my stand.
My mind then told me things so grand,
And warned me to, for the right to always stand.
After going on in that bright vein, it gathered speed
Just like a train.
It gathered speed, my good old train,
And my children joined me in my brain.
My wife then came and sat by us.
We visited, planned, and had prayer, no fuss.
Envision, the word, popped in my mind,
Presenting my folks, so good & kind.
I smiled as their vision held,
And the other came to stand,
Presenting a panorama all bright and grand.
Gradually it withdrew from view.
I thought of service and doing good,
Of pleasing God like good men should.
I thought much of the coming day,
And pray I’d do the things I say.
In the middle of the night
My lids grew heavy ‘caused there was no light.
My eyes went shut without a peep,
And soon as a wink
I was fast asleep.

Paul Wayne Carroll, September 8, 2016


I knew a man who taught me
By how he lived and loved
I learned what God expects of men
By watching him lead, not solve.

He showed that strength is gentle
Not arrogant, loud nor tough.
He taught that caring is gauged not just by words,
But with silent acts of love.

A simple man he did appear
To those with eyes that did not see
His heart of gold and depth of soul
That made me love him so.

A better man I’ve never known,
He was the best friend I ever had.
So blessed I am, to love this man,
That joyfully I call “Dad.”

Paul Wayne Carroll, June 27, 2014


They went away today
They are all pieces of my heart
They went away today
They took with them pieces of my soul
They went away today
I think I may know a little better now
How Father must have felt when He said to Mother,
“He went away today.”

They went away today
My heart yearned for them to come back.
They went away today.
In their leaving, though, I was comforted.
I was comforted because in their leaving
There is, if they keep their commitments,
The promise of their return.

They went away today.
They are all pieces of my heart.
They went away today.
Nevertheless, I am at peace
Knowing that the going was right.
And that the returning will come.

Paul Wayne Carroll, April 17, 2002

This poem was written on the day that our Shumway children and grandchildren left Richfield to move to Iowa.


I noticed Today November winds began to blow
plenteous leaves are falling much like snow.
Maple leaves crunch under my feet
But the willow’s leaves are soft beneath.
The sky is cloudy, and the day is gray
The southbound fowl have flown away.
Brown cattails no longer velvet, but woolen and full
And the purple thistles to have paid a toll.
Now the world stands braced for cold days ahead
A long winter is coming and dreams warmth sheds
Of roaring fireplaces and soft feather beds.

Paul Wayne Carroll, November 21, 2021


Thank you…
For being by my side through times both thick and thin
For never giving up on me when I didn’t win
For always being patient if I sometimes pushed you away
For still caring when I said that I needed no one anyway

I am fully grateful knowing…
That I could count upon your strength
I could always ask for your support and I knew you’d go to any length
When I lost my way
You helped me get back on track
When I was in pain
Your comfort soothed and brought me back.

I am fortunate because…
In times of sadness you taught me face and gave me hope
When confusion came you taught me how to cope
When I felt that I couldn’t win
You carried me long miles
When times of unbelief assailed me
You restored me with your smile

Mother, thank you
For your guidance and the faith you have shown
For giving me for many years a safe place where I have grown
For showing me how to strive
Because you knew how to love
I live and thrive

Paul Wayne Carroll, July 15, 2017

In memory of my mother on the 99th anniversary of her birth


It is the small things that make life a joy,
A smile, a laugh, a grin, a wink,
That keeps us all in the pink.
A thanks expressed, a feeling touched,
A grief assuaged, all mean so much.

It is the small things that make life a joy.
They give us peace. It has such appeal
To hear someone say, “I know how you feel.”
To hear kind comfort oft expressed
Makes the hard time the ones oft most blessed.

It is the small things that make this life a joy.
Its the tiny hand of a child
As it reaches out so meek and mild.
It is the quivering hand of the old
Who need your firm hand to enfold.

It is the small things that make this life a joy.
A kind note written to express some thanks
Brings happiness down all through the ranks.
A kindness acknowledged by all the rest
Brings out in each of us the very best.

It is the small things that make this life a joy.
Remember then my good dear friend
This thought, each day, from start to end.
Each life by yours often touched
Blesses all so very much.

Paul Wayne Carroll, December 15, 1994

In memory of my mother on the 99th anniversary of her birth


I’ve thought today about the past,
Within the present’s view.
I’ve thought of life and its flowing course,
Like a river strong and true.

There have been times of quiet flow,
O’er which we’ve seemed to glide.
Then have come huge boulders
That pushed us to the side.

There have been logs that filled the stream,
And formed a dam so strong
That only the force of another’s strength,
Broke them up and moved them out,
So we could move along.

Life’s river has had peaceful banks,
Covered o’er with flower and tree,
With softly covered rock, by moss,
Providing haven for you and me.

There have been times when rapid flow
Brought threat upon the wave,
When partnership and a careful steer
Both soul and body saved.

From the past, the river flows to now,
And brings us where we are.
Come, rest a while with me today
Upon its quiet bank.

For all too soon we’ll resume
Our ride upon its crest.
We’ll face the challenge just round the bend
Before again there’s rest.

The past will flow on its way
Engulfing what’s ahead,
And we will ride upon its crest,
And move on around the bend.

You’ve always been with me through time,
As o’er the crest we’ve gone.
Come now and stay with me the course
As life’s river moves along.

I’ve thought today about the past,
With mingled joy and grief,
And with you, upon life’s river
Found hope, peace and relief.

Paul Wayne Carroll, March 13, 1998


When the heart speaks in kindness,
When the heart speaks the truth
There comes into each open soul
Eternal balm to soothe.

When pure hearts give correction,
Other hearts receive with joy.
Goodness brings progression,
And doth sinful ways destroy.

When two hearts are united
In love, in faith, in praise,
Then all who are touched by them
Grow up in gracious ways.

Each of us speaks from the heart.
It guides our steps each day.
May we have an abundant heart
Schooled in Heaven’s way.

May our hearts and our minds
United ever be.
Then can Heaven whisper
The things that make us free.

When the heart speaks in kindness
Heaven opens up its doors,
And light and truth flow to human hearts,
No one could ask for more.

Let us speak in kindness
Out of the abundance of our hearts,
Then in love we’ll be united
So each may do their part.

Paul Wayne Carroll, June 5, 2001


There is sweetness in reflection
On good times come and gone.
There is joy in anticipation
Of good times coming on.
There is pain and growth
In memories of challenge come and passed.
There is gratefulness for education
In lessons that will last.

There is disciple in living
As life continues on.
There is counsel and correction
In paths taken that were wrong.
There is peace, there is contentment
In doing what is right.
There is blessed ease of conscience
When life’s lived within the light.

There is a time of inward peace
When with the ones you love.
There is a comfort in their presence
That can come no other way.
With kindness and forbearance
That peace can ever stay.

Live is lived within the moment
Of this present day.
It’s founded in sweet reflection
But lived from day to day.
How blessed is sweet remembrance
Of the times that now are gone.
How blessed is our condition
As they gently guide us on.

Paul Wayne Carroll, December 27, 2001

This poem is one of remembrance and gratitude for family, associates, and experiences that have blessed my life in the past. It is also a reminder that if we build upon a sound foundation we ensure the future goodness and rightness of our course in life.


Blessed are the times of quietness
When all around doth rest.
When I can dwell within myself
And see how my soul is dressed.

What garments does my soul put on?
Does my view my heart lift high
Or does it wear a homely shroud
And make me want to cry?

Blessed are these in turned times,
These times of introspection true –
These times of my soul’s congruity,
Of unfettered pristine view.

These times of quiet thoughtfulness
Are times of challenge too –
They are times of silent, firm resolve
When Jesus comes to view.

The double view of Him and me
Brings perfection to my sight,
And my failings and imperfections shine
Like ragged garments in His light.

Yet, in these times of quietness
He seems to smile on me
And deep within my soul comes forth
The thought that I, like Him, can be.

My vision clears, my eyes are bright,
My soul in His light doth rest.
I can see myself full clothed
In Robes of Righteousness.

I see so plainly in this quiet time
What is now and what may be
If I but heed His invitation to
“Come” and “Follow Me.”

Oh, the joy of quiet times
When all around doth rest –
When I can dwell within myself
And see how my soul is dressed.

Paul Wayne Carroll, September 13, 1995


The touch of the wind upon my cheek,
Like an angel’s touch blows by.
My eyes look up in wonder, to the cloud streaked sky
Of soft and azure blue.
The sun is warm upon my face
As it creeps up in the sky.
The grass grows green with new signs of life,
And crocuses and daffodils rise up and shout
Their beauty to the eye.

The trees leaf green and the birds return,
And nest in tree and limb.
They chirp and sing and fly about
Mid their fledgling’s noisy din.
New calves, new lambs, new all of life
Fill the days with joy.
They are times of growth and nurturing.
They are times for hope’s employ.

The earth grows warm under the sun’s warm gaze.
It is touched by gentle rain.
Green plants sprout through rich brown soil
To this season’s life sustain.

My heart is warmed by what I see.
My soul’s in song employed.
I raise a silent shout of praise
For Spring, oh time of joy.

It is a time of type and hope.
A glimpse of what’s yet to come.
A symbol of eternal life,
When the forever Spring dawns upon the earth,
And its light is God’s own Son.

The touch of the wind upon my cheek,
Like an angel’s touch blows by.
My heart is warmed, my soul looks up.
A silent shout ascends on high
For Spring, oh time of joy.

Paul Wayne Carroll, March 19, 1997


The silence of aloneness enfolds me like a shroud.
In this secret place
Thoughts swirl like funnel clouds,
Feelings from whirlpools,
Penetrating deep into my soul.
The quietness of this place, like a silken coverlet
Hides me in the softness of its folds.
I am left to myself to ponder,
To turn inward.

There is light in aloneness,
And vision in quietness.
Eyes unseen by others look
Deeply inside and navigate
The labyrinths of my “self.”

The mists of memory float over me,
And the dews of chastening and joy settle on me.
Their droplets are illuminated by
The light of aloneness,
And I see with clarity.

I am disquieted in part,
And have joy in part.
Like an artist’s unfinished canvas,
I am a work in progress.
Like a house just framed,
I am not finished.

It does not yet appear what I shall be
But in the light of aloneness
I see what I can be.
I am left in the silence and the quietness
To ponder –
To look deeply inside –
To uncover.
I am like a rising temple,
I am not finished.

Paul Wayne Carroll, July 11, 1997


Such a day as this
Was made for pondering.
For thinking, and for gratitude.
It was made for a sweet kiss
And the squeeze of a hand.
Such a day was made for kindness
For the disciplining of passions
And living life within
The boundaries that Heaven set.
Such a day as this
Was made for smiling, and for
The joy of pleasant greeting.
It was made for expecting nothing
So that when something
Comes that is unbidden
Or solicited it is welcome.
It is then received with gratitude
And motivates the heart to
Act in return.
Such a day as this,
As winter approaches, sponsors
Looks and sadness
At the dying
And fosters hope for the
Coming of the spring.
It digs a hole in the soil
For hope and plants it
As a bulb to come forth
In joy in the coming time.
Such a day as this makes me grateful
For that which is mine
And those who choose to surround me.
They are like a field of golden daffodils
And bring me joy
By their movements and beauty.
Ah, thanks be to heaven
For a day like this.

Paul Wayne Carroll, November 26, 2002


Renée, Renée, my Sweet Renée,
a gift, our miracle in every way.
She was yearned and prayed for
for many a day.

The day she was born was full of joy,
and gratitude’s voice was fully employed.
In the race for a name, her mom won the day,
and said to her dad, “We’ll call her Renée.”

She grew like a weed, and ran like a deer.
We never knew if she was there or here.
There were times she was neat and times when a mess.
she liked to visit and the neighbor’s lives to bless.

She was a helpful and pleasant child.
Who loved to help me cook.
She also liked her daddy’s lap
To nap or read a book.

She grew up and loved to dance.
She longed to join the drill team
as had her sister, Ann.
This dad had sequins in his naval because, he said, “You can.”

She had in mind a certain lad,
that made her daddy say, “She’s mad.”
But he was her own, she made quite clear,
and now to us, he’s just as dear.

She works very hard and she’s now the district lunch crowd queen,
and runs the place like you’ve never seen.
She has four kids, each one a prize
and grand kids too, grow before her eyes.

We love them all.
I remember well, when she came,
and I heard her mom’s sweet refrain
as she said to me, ” Renée’s her name.”

Paul Wayne Carroll, July 30, 2016

love you lots


I will love you like all my tomorrows,
Like every day that comes to me,
Like the enfolding of summer’s sunshine,
Like the gentle wind that blows ’round me free.

To walk in the darkness and hear the night birds sing
Beneath the mellow moon,
To share each of life’s pleasures with you
On a rainy sweetheart’s afternoon.

In the quiet of an early dawn,
Walking down by the rolling lake’s side,
We walked through the fleeting morning.
It meant everything to me.

For every precious hour
You spend each day with me
Love grows ever deeper in my soul
To reach our eternity

And as we gather shining moonbeams
As twilight takes the hours,
Come rest with me through eternal days
Among a field of unending flowers.

Paul Wayne Carroll, September 5, 2018


You always answered each time I called.
You helped me up if I should fall.
But I never heard you complain, no, not at all.
My true friend.

You challenged me when I was wrong.
But you never poked me for long.
Instead, your buoyed me up
and kept me strong.
My true friend.

You knew a funny thing to say.
To make me laugh and blow my fears away.
Just like the sun, you brightened up my day.
My true friend.

You saw the gifts I denied to myself but
Your urgings were heard when you said, “Just try.”
You spread for me my wings to fly.
My truest friend.

You always understood my need.
The amazing thing was you offered before I pled.
Just like a book, you opened me up, and my mind you read.
My true friend.

You valued the little things I did.
But would not bring out the things that brought us up.
How can I ever repay you.
My true friend.

And greatest of all that I found, were when my times were tough
and I went down.
You were the one, always the one, who stayed around,
My true, true friend.

Paul Wayne Carroll, September 12, 2018

To My True Friend


I wonder why the stars do shine so far up in the sky…

I wonder why the moon stays put and keeps its light on in the night…

I wonder why the sun shines all the time and keeps us warm from Heaven so far away…

I wonder why things grow up from seeds put underneath the ground…

I wonder why there is a thing called love that makes my world go round…

I wonder why it makes men like me hold a sweethearts hand…

I wonder what makes her say to my question posed, “Yes, love and I so planned.”

And I wonder what the miracle is that brings a baby here…

I wonder how love grows and gets better year-by-year…

I wonder what God thinks as He views His children here…

I hope the questions will still come, as they have come today.

I hope He watches over us both night and day.

I trust He’s ever near to us and that it will always be that way.

Paul Wayne Carroll, October 13, 2018

This is a sister poem to the poem of the same name
that was written by my father, Paul Weldon Carroll

Time Passes By

Time slips by and goes away
Just as the sky more turns from blue to gray.
We are here on earth for only a day.
Don’t let your life pass with words you never say.

Watch out, don’t live in anger, fear or regret.
If you need, seek forgiveness and let your pain have rest.
Don’t rise up and judge too quickly as you possibly are wrong,
Instead, choose to live life like an uplifting song.

When tears fall from your eyes, wipe them away.
They only last but for the day.
There are times we hurt because we care.
Sometimes our lives seem more than unfair.

We all make mistakes that we wish we could change
And we wonder how our life could be otherwise arranged.
Second chance is a law lasting only so long,
So reach out to others, our sisters and brothers. Don’t be estranged.

The wise understand there are angels in heaven
Who watch us every day as we laugh and we play.
Let each hour bring joy as you lie down at night,
Thank the Lord God every day.
Be rid of all strife and let peace make your way.

Paul Wayne Carroll, December 16, 2018

United We Stand

United we stand
Divided we fall
United we prosper
Divided we crawl
United we learn
Divided we lose
United we shine
Divided we bruise
United we gain
Divided we recede
United we attain
United I know
That we can surely fly
Divided we lose our wings
And fall far from the sky.
But God is in His heaven
United we can shine.

Paul Wayne Carroll, February 5, 2019


I’m so glad that you’re my wife,
and my children’s mother.
And I’m so glad you care so much,
and that you are so strong.
Because surely there’s no one else,
who could put up with me so long.

I think of all the diapers that you changed.
I remember the trips back and forth to school.
I remember your brand-new dresses
being cleaned up from spit and drool.
Why there’s only one Mother’s Day to honor you
seems a little cruel.

I remember all the hand prints you washed from walls and doors.
The kids were not careful where they played, on walls and floors
I think hand prints haunted your sleep,
and yet you taped them on the fridge when the kids had gone to sleep.

And now they’re grown and I am older and we have seen so much of life.
Our children love you, as do I.
You are so sweet and strong. My heart is full of gratitude
because I know more perfectly than I ever have before,
that there’s no one else who could put up with me so long nor love me more.

Happy Mother’s Day my love.

Paul Wayne Carroll, May 14, 2017


Pots sometimes forget the Potter,
And that He’s the spinner true and real.
They think they
Alone are the movers of the wheel.
Pots are made of clay,
From dust found here on earth.
It’s the molding by the Potter,
That gives both form and girth.
Pots are shaped by the Potter’s skill
And His action gives them birth.

Pots can be of grand design
Or of the plainest form.
They can be placed in palaces
Or to humble cottages be born.
They can grow in luster and be burnished
Fully dependent for their fare
On those with whom they dwell,
And on the Potter’s care.

No pot is self-sufficient.
No pot forms on its own.
Its clay that has been molded
By the Potter’s hand alone.
Its wisdom to remember
When pots would spin the wheel
That on high there is a Potter
Who formed their clay and made them real.

Pots were made to be of service
And to be burnished by the same.
Then they will be cherished
And known by the Potter’s name.
Ne’er forget the Potter,
That He’s the one who spins the wheel.
For one day He’ll come to claim the pots
That were formed upon His wheel.

Paul Wayne Carroll, December 29, 2002


It’s good to be with good people
No matter where you are.
Their goodness will surround you
And make you better off by far.

Good people bring out the best in us.
We emulate that which we see.
I bring out the best in you,
And you the best in me.

There is no room for compromise
In the quest for good.
We can never be at peace
‘Til we do just as we should.

Goodness is an action thing.
It never comes by standing still.
Good people ‘round us spur us on
Life’s purpose to fulfill

Good people are a blessing.
They shine as brilliant stars
Their light permeates our lives
And we’re better off by far.

Paul Wayne Carroll, October 24, 2003


There’s a sidewalk that I walk down
Each and every day.
It’s an ordinary sidewalk just like
Thousands of its kind
But yet it’s very different
Because it plays upon my mind.
On a sloping block of its cement
As it drops down to the street
Is written in a childish scrawl
Three words with meaning deep.
Written there in a day gone by
When the cement was wet and damp
It simply says, “Watch Your Step”,
And o’er it daily men’s feet tramp.
It caught my eye on the first day
And has caught it each day since.
It serves as a frozen warning
There in that slab so cold,
Its message sounds so clearly
And never will grow old.
Many a sad mortal would be
Happy now if the warning had been kept
In days gone by, and recently, to
Please just “watch your step.”

Paul Wayne Carroll, December 14, 2002

The cement sidewalk slab that inspired this poem is on the north west corner of 200 South and 200 West in Richfield, Utah.


Little acts of kindness
Strewn along the way
Bring pleasant thoughts of gratitude,
Than was given away.
Little acts of kindness
Are balms that heal the heart.
They strengthen bonds of friendship
And are of the Healer’s art.
Little acts of kindness
Form smiles in yearning hearts,
They also bless the giver of whom they are a part.
Little acts of kindness
Are joys sweet refrain.
They fall like beads of sunlight,
And droplets after rain.
Little acts of kindness
Oh, do them every day.
They lift the soul to greater heights
And light up Heaven’s way.

Paul Wayne Carroll, May 25, 2003


I like long walks.
I take one every day.
It strengthens spirit and body
And lengthens my earthly stay.
I like long walks taken by others
As they go upon their way.
I like them taken,
Especially by those who annoy me,
As it helps them go away.

Paul Wayne Carroll, July 27, 2002

It's My Holly, By Golly

She came to us in hot July.
she was cute as a bug, I could never lie.
She had the wiggles right from the start
and she wiggled her way right into my heart.

She grew like a weed, and man could she talk.
she likes to run and she liked to walk.
She often was asked if my buddy she’d be
and she always agreed and so happy were we.

She loved to dance. She loved to sing.
she loved to make all the crystal ring.
She was like her dad, and worked to be good.
She was thoughtful and kind and did what she should.

She loved to dance. She loved crazy things.
She loves nice clothes, and baubles and rings.
She loves her good husband and the talent he brings
And they really finish pioneer furniture including tables with wings.

Her heart is open and she serves so well
both in church and at home and with her crafts as well.
Like her name she is shiny and bright
And she lives her life so she can act as a light.

I guess by now you have guessed
that I think she’s real fine,
She passes life’s tests,
And judged by her dad she’s the top of the line.

Paul Wayne Carroll, July 29, 2016


Inside, inside, we live inside.
Our thoughts and dreams are there.
As well, desires, whims and silent notes,
And things we seldom share.

Inside, inside, we live inside.
We live inside ourselves.
Our spirit’s there,
Equipped with mental shelves.

Inside, inside, we live inside.
At times it’s quiet there.
Betimes inside is filled with joy,
At other times, despair.

Inside, inside, we live inside.
There dwells our utmost pain.
And yet, from that silent dwelling place
In time, comes our greatest gain.

Inside, inside, we live inside.
We reach out with trust and care.
From deep within our inmost heart
Comes that great love we share.

Inside, inside, we live inside.
Our exaltation’s genesis comes from there.
Christ’s meaning in our lives
Unfolds and grows through inside secret prayer.

Inside, inside, we live inside.
Our passion’s centered there.
That which with seed and life’s intent
Has its beginning there.

Inside, inside, we live inside.
Guard it e’re with care.
For life, and love, and joy, and peace
Issue forth from there.

Paul Wayne Carroll, June 13, 1997


Oh, the joy of a gentle touch
To calm a troubled heart.
It soothes and warms and comforts,
And banks cruel fires that start.

Oh, the peace of a loving word,
Spoken in quiet tones.
Oh, the blessings of measured thoughts
That bring the heart back home.

Oh, the contentment of unspoken love,
That is seen in touching eyes.
Oh, the messages that pass
Unseen by other eyes.

Oh, the kindness of an out stretched hand
When steps taken are unsure.
Oh, the confidence it builds,
And how its support endures.

Oh, the happiness that comes
Into each mortal life
When gentle hands and loving words
Subdue the times of strife.

Oh, the calming of the words
Of unspoken, all seeing love.
Oh, the peace of a sheltering arm,
Like manna from above.

May it be remembered now
And in the coming years,
That the joy of a gentle touch
Can lead to holier spheres.

Paul Wayne Carroll, February 23, 1998


Wilbur Wiffle was a wimp –
Wilbur Wiffle was a shrimp –
Wilbur Wiffle had bulgy eyes –
Wilbur Wiffle was colored pink –
Wilbur Wiffle lived in “the drink” –
Wilbur Wiffle, the little prawn
Got ate by a big fish –
Just before dawn.

Paul Wayne Carroll, June 21, 1996

Pin It on Pinterest