Walk the rails under a high blue sky. Find the sag in the leaning fence, and step--carefully--over rusted wire. Follow a peninsula of blond grasses through a lake of loam, and come, at last, to the timber's edge where gray branches trace the sky and rose hips curl near purple canes.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
From "Be Still My Soul"
"Be still, my soul: thy Jesus can repay From His own fullness all He takes away. . . . . Be still, my soul: when change and tears are past All safe and blessed we shall meet at last."
just had some time to browse this evening, dear heart, and love the poems you are posting!
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