Monday, October 31, 2005

The Wind

30 October 2005, 1:44 PM

My Name is in the Wind

Rustling Sycamore leaves and
Still-green grass upon the Lea
Rippling the waters as the Sparrow’s
Flight waxes in the morning Sun.

My Name is in the Wind

Beneath a Butterfly’s new-found wings
Stirring cirrus Clouds upon an
Azure Sky now deep’ning to Cerulean

Beyond the mirrored Universe
I’ve gazed upon so long
I’d forgotten all else

But my Name is in the Wind

Blowing endlessly
Returning to the One
Who placed the tree upon the Lea
Who gave the Sun and gilded leaves
Who loves the Bird and Butterfly
Who made the grass and blessed the same

Who is the Wind and knows my Name

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George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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