tell me not to run
back to fields of daisies,
now scorched by the sun.

tell me not to mourn
the silken sky of night
now breaking into dawn.

tell me not to hold
the pieces of silver,
you’re turning into gold.

tell me to be quiet
and hear Your new journey,
whispered to me in private,

tell me to be still
basking in Your presence,
and bending to Your will.