A fluttering leaf, Tossed by fleeting gusts, Passive in each gale, I am not. A rock, fixed and unyielding, Cold, untouchable, Unbreathing, Not me. Instead, fluid and free,…
My heart bursts in its banks, spilling beauty and goodness. I pour it out in a poem to the King, shaping the river into words. (Psalm 45:1) His dark curls and bemused…