I lift my pen from the page
and smell the coming rain
I hear the rising wind
and sense gathering pain
and as the scouting drizzle coats my face
I smile, because I have my compass
I have a North Star and the maps I made
when I came this way before
I know I can navigate these hills
and I can form a new stanza
to take me through to the meadows
that wait for me there
Sep 20, 2020
Sep 20, 2020 at 7:10 AM UTC
I lift my pen from the page
and smell the coming rain
I hear the rising wind
and sense gathering pain
and as the scouting drizzle coats my face
I smile, because I have my compass
I have a North Star and the maps I made
when I came this way before
I know I can navigate these hills
and I can form a new stanza
to take me through to the meadows
that wait for me there
