Gentle feather-falls, between rain and snow,
Dissolve the spiritual tension.
Afraid of the same familiar foe,
I respond with ancient apprehension.
Now the holy and the hushed
Turn my face to ageless precipitation.
My cheek again gently brushed
By the One who satisfies expectation.
Perhaps when seconds fall away as rain,
I’ll be freed from or for these lofty dreams,
But heaven’s wet whispers remain,
Reminding me, in hopeful streams.
viewingcamelot 
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