I'm not a poet. I have never written poetry nor even read it much. Everyday since my heart stopped I've been hearing poetry in my spirit . . . Here's the latest.
At dawns first light
The spirit of the Beaver
called to me
He said without remorse
and with some force
come and see
You who have eyes to see
And ears to hear
Even now the axe is laid
To the root of the tree
Two have fallen
And one remains
Soon I am coming
With healing in my wings
To remove from you
all your pain
And in that
There will be so much gain
So let not your heart
Be troubled
Neither let it be afraid
nor given to despair
For the foundation has
Already been laid
As I was reading from Mark, looking at the trees in the pic, the wind blew my pages. I tried to turn them back but every time I did they blew right back to this passage; Luke 3:4-11
It's a Mystery . . .
At dawns first light
The spirit of the Beaver
called to me
He said without remorse
and with some force
come and see
You who have eyes to see
And ears to hear
Even now the axe is laid
To the root of the tree
Two have fallen
And one remains
Soon I am coming
With healing in my wings
To remove from you
all your pain
And in that
There will be so much gain
So let not your heart
Be troubled
Neither let it be afraid
nor given to despair
For the foundation has
Already been laid
As I was reading from Mark, looking at the trees in the pic, the wind blew my pages. I tried to turn them back but every time I did they blew right back to this passage; Luke 3:4-11
It's a Mystery . . .
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