Follow His Light
I think, I see, A million whitecaps, Making waves, And they're taking no naps. Fresh and speaking, So native, I have freedom to create, Oh, creative. Wind, Brave, Pushy, And immense. Blowing strong, Oh, intense. God's hands, Ever more than slight, Follow His light. What?! A mortal! Here, a man, This I ask, Because I can. Flawed mortal, That, you are. Mortal flawed, That, you are.
©1999-2021 Steve Bujanow |
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