When a wind comes through,
I look up
as if I will see
from
where it came from.
Silly me!
You can’t see
the wind,
only watch what it touches.
Oh
Poppa,
when Your Spirit breezes through,
I marvel at watching
what it does to
me,
how it touches me.
What tunes,
what
notes sound
as this Sweet Wind blows about,
to cause music
to come forth from
me
like I was created to be.
Playing me
like I was of
Your most prized instrument.
My thoughts explore
the whole experience
with force to gather
this
harvest of emotions
like a dry sponge
absorbs every drop of moisture
it can
hold.
Ready to be squeezed
here and
there
so what I gathered
can be enjoyed
all about my travels.
Waiting,
watching,
holding on as long as I can;
often freezing in a stand-still
so all
remains within.
Swinging back
to its beginning
so a rehearsal can pick up
any
that might have been missed
the first time.
Not one swish of this Wind
has no meaning.
As I stay in these hurricanes
or slight touch
of hearing the Wind,
I hum my life to You
as the melody
of this memorable
moment.
For I listen
to the high and low
of such power
and with surrendering of my will,
I see my life
as Your song.
The sweet rest
that calms my weary soul
gives
understanding
the song is singing
with victory of love about me.
New appetites
beyond my previous knowledge
are now both developing
and being satisfied.
With the pitch Your Spirit
created among Your
beloved,
I lift my own
to blend in harmony
the New Song that is awakened.
