Because I’m sore afflicted
And burdened with many ills
I seek to find a hem to touch
From a Spirit passing by.

Mustard seeds don’t work for me.
My faith is like a summer breeze
That gently sways the blossoms
But is often deathly still.

I need vast hurricanes of trust
If I have hopes of healing
But I reach out to emptiness
And my candle doesn’t waver.
ljm