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Ruth Anne Boothe


Keller, TX, US

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The Stranger


Ruth Anne Boothe

I watched a man pass by today
He ambled, slowly, on his way
To where? I truly couldn’t say
There’s a just a field

He shuffled with his head turned down
I followed his gaze to the ground
His shoes were battered, worn, and brown
With several holes

His clothes had seen a better day
(Things I’d have long since thrown away)
In such a breeze, most pant legs sway
How can that feel?

His coat was tattered, thin, and old
Small refuge from the bitter cold
A hunter’s hat with flaps unfold
Warmed his ears

His manner offered little charm
And, nearing, caused me faint alarm
Could he, a stranger, mean me harm?
What should I do?

Compassion mingled with distrust
Empathy, with mild disgust
Charity, but only just
I felt afraid

He looked up from his listless stroll
(A face where time had taken toll)
With eyes, the mirror to his soul
I stood, transfixed

The glance was brief, though seeming long
And he proceeded right along
As I endured, confusion strong,
A sense of loss

I’d watched a man in dire need
Pass by, no thought to intercede
In judging him, I saw the need
To judge myself

For aren’t we all a part of One?
One soul, one home beyond the sun
Our purpose, not to harm or shun,
But to help?

New eyes absorbed his slight, bent frame
Our size, it seemed, could be the same
And praying he would feel no shame
I stepped his way

"Sir," I called, "Sir, wait up, please!"
His tired steps abruptly ceased
"On such a day, you’ll surely freeze
Without your coat."

He turned with eyes grown solemn, wary
To view my coat, quite ordinary
As though it were extraordinary
I held it out

He donned, with thoughtful, slow surprise
The coat, then turned to scrutinize
Myself, his look both grateful, wise
He nodded thanks

With heart and mind on full display
I humbly watched him walk away
For gently, I had heard him say
"God Bless."



Ruth Anne Boothe

When life is cruel
Prospects seem dire
Know this
You’ll bounce back
You’ll bounce higher



Ruth Anne Boothe

Stark truth resides in words of wise
Each love, each life, each moment dies



Ruth Anne Boothe

Without your innate kindness, would I have ever tried
To look beyond mere clothes or skin and see the good inside

Without your love for books, could I have come to know
The fascinating minds of Steinbeck, Dickens, King, or Poe

Without your warm benevolence, how could I comprehend
The little things it takes to make and keep and be a friend

Without your sense of humor, I rather doubt that I
Could laugh at life the times it would be easier to cry

Without your love of music, would I have come to find
The timeless, soaring beauty Bach and Strauss have left behind

Without your calm forgiveness, would I have ever known
That others will return the understanding they are shown

Without your deep compassion, would I have come to see
Our purpose in this life begins and ends with empathy

Without your generosity, could I have come to guess
That people are more precious than the things I could possess

Without your steady faith in me, would I have learned to live
With pure, intrinsic knowledge that I have something to give

Without your love, altrusive, would I have come to be
The daughter who returns your love a thousandfold, times three

My Love


Ruth Anne Boothe

Dark fringed eyes,
Green as the sea,
Reflect in their depths
An image of me

Subtle recognition
Tinged with deja vu
At first it seemed a flawless dream
Too precious to be true

We spoke with ease for hours
Words flowing fast and free
As if all worries lifted
And we could simply "be"

The world became a fairy tale
With colors sharp and clear
Each new day bright and wonderful
Whenever you were near

Your smile stole my heart
Your gentle voice, my mind
Your warm embrace, so safe and sure,
Entranced, Enthralled, Entwined

By summers’ end it seemed
I’d known you all my life
The sweet prince from my dreams
Who’d have me as his wife

And, with stunning clarity
That caused my heart to soar,
I realized I’d found the one
My soul was searching for



Ruth Anne Boothe

SomeOne we can't see
SomeOne we can't hear or feel
Is out there, watching
Willing us to try to see
And hear and feel and know Him

Without passion


Ruth Anne Boothe

Life without passion is listless and cold
A death march from childhood ... to aging ... to old.