With that I hammered the stake in the ground

Your frail fingers cold at the ends of limbs

While I try to steal a glimpse without sound

Instead left recoiling from your word whims

That was when in the sand I drew a line

In an effort to save her last few tears

I moved outdoors the storm that was now mine

A  herd of goats rounded up by my fears

‘Twas then over my shoulder recanting

Since pride and fear had gone out for a smoke

Prayers sent for grace and tenderness lacking

Grateful that in time He’s lifted the cloak

These skins that we fashion upon our own

Will be torn back bearing fruits of seeds sewn

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s