My head I rest On that loving breast, Undone and I To that shelter fly. Not groping nor complaining In my heart, For covered there My wanting does depart. The arrow flies by day And stalkers haunt By night to burn my bones And jeering taunt- But for all attacks

They say “Stage four, There’s not much more To do for you.” “A pack of pills Prolong your ills, We’ll numb the pain, But not much gain Under the sun Is left. Just run… Your best.” “My best?” you say, “Is this the way All sputtering To go? Say No.”

Doubtful hours Proved by wilted flowers When they scattered Petals, like hopes shattered Hours lasting Years, too many, stashing Up with fears too Heavy, petals that grew. There is a face That darkness can’t erase, Though rain obscure, But always it is pure. Stems stark and bare Stand brave, remember

Did you think To put you in a furnace Would not scorch your skin? To come out gold With easy glee And not the surfacing of sin? Or that boiling water hot Would like a warm bath Scathe you not? Like sinking in so comfortably To fire should come easily?

Learned, but have I really learned To trust? Hoped in God, yet other times In dust. Treasures high, but also some That rust. Desired God; not always, But I must. Hungry, thirsty, satisfied And filled, Yet other times all empty Wanting, nil. Reaching for His word I must Be still,