"small traveler"
Far below His lofty distant perch, she travels,
Down a darkened, stony, lonely lane,
Unaware He charts her every move, she ambles
On small feet, well-bruised and fraught with pain.
From above He calls out in His voice--she listens,
Hears her name born softly in the breeze.
Still, she waits, then moves her feet again, now faster,
Trembling in her soul and in her knees.
Once again she stumbles and she falls--she lies there,
Terrified to sleep until the dawn.
Morning comes, her naked soul awakes, then panics,
Reaches for a robe, then puts it on.
Hiding still beneath the spreading oaks, she wonders
If she'll ever bask in open air and light,
Or alone, she's doomed to shrink in shame and sorrow,
Shaded by the hues of wrong and right.
Then at once, the limbs above her part, in reverence,
Sunlight floods her face, as does His voice.
In her heart, she knows the time has come for her to
Take His hand, or faint, that is her choice.
