For those I have met on my journey,
whose path pointed back into mine,
by gestures and jots
sewn to thousands of thoughts,
of this, it has been His design.
For the seasons both hopeful and lonesome,
of the months bearing titles like ‘May’,
with each day forming showers in drought-ridden lands
when dew drops, like prayer, lifted grey.
Of each song I encountered,
and each note I have sung,
be it praise, pain or bittersweet chords
of all that I’ve run from, am holding, am there…
of all that I’m moving on towards.
Bless the thorns, for they’ve made me a rose on the Rhine,
and the petals, an apple on earth,
in the eye of my Father, who called me his child
when wounds, like a wind, formed my birth.