Treasured dreams, weathered hearts;

The Spirit’s stream and call to light,

Eyes aglow, hands applaud,

Shades now drawn on frozen sod.

Beneath the snow the seed remains,

Beckoned forth by the sun’s flame.

Feet that stumble,

Hearts now humble Hands held out, a quickened step;

The soil is rich beneath Doubt’s death.


Written by Robyn Pollock

In honor to God as she hears His voice

July 9, 2008

P.S. I am not the only writer in the house – not even the best writer in the house. Thank you for this Sweetness! 


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