It is as though I have been blessed,
As your touch comes over me.
The trees begin to speak,
And so does the sky.
Of the Holy Presence,
And then, I sigh.
For only does revelry in this Divine Touch,
Reprimand me in ways so delicately unforgettable.
Your embrace is a gift,
Of which my earthly spleandours will rub me of
Indeed as celestial as the thespian birds,
That beckon to tell a tale.
Yet it is your unique touch
That reminds me of my place.
A look, a glance, a memory,
One of your loving face.
Even the leaves are my mentors,
For the gust does not bend them,
The prodigal bird, a mirror of my own delirious fate.
Your symbol stands before me,
Along with it, your gift.
Shall I be thankful? I am.
For to see you before me,
To smell the smell of Creation,
Is to sense the taste of undeniable hope.
That is undoubtedly not lost,
As ashes burn away and only left with me
Is a paragon of your tight and trusting embrace.:’)