Lord let the words that drew paths upon,
my own heart and my mind, come into Your view.
Time and space lost to host such a tempest’s own queue,
that slumber has paved a path due for renew.
Dreams such as these steal your own, the True.
How marked our wanderings can fall far away-
Led by such promptings and pulls like a plow pulled astray.
When I awaken the clamor astounds.
Love spills and cries for His Name to resound.
Pray, wake the dream that my heart be not bound.
Lord, place in me, the will of devout;
A longing to “see”, to remind and account…
Sweep on throughout as a wind would caress,
It’s own field of Love’s bounty; it’s garden to bless.
© 2016 Linda Willows