How can I not be, prone to go and
see the last days of life pass forward?
It seems such a waste, to what might have been
gathered in times long ago.
The raspy cry out, came over the line and
every word sank into static. Dear God,
what is the calling that you have made? Is
my heart open to this that you gave?
'So, take my feet, put them on the right ground.
Make my mind go quiet and recieve.
Help my heart have warm blood and be sure
my will has the strength to leave.
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