I asked my Beloved Father upon bended knee
How many summers will I live to see?
You know the answer to every mystery
Your counsel is always available, always free
Father, what will the number of my summers be?
His words blessed me, tender, a sweet summer shower
My beloved, it is not for you to know the day or the hour
Faithfully trust in My love, live ever in My power
Who but I knows when the seed will come to flower?
Or after the bloom fades, how long the fragrance will linger?
The final note of a birdís song who but I, Creator of the singer?
Your summers will be enough to reach all that you should reach
To learn and pass on all the wisdom I have given you to teach
To yearn for all the souls I have given you to seek
To deny pride and know My greatness belongs to the meek
To learn that My grace is all sufficient, even when you are weak
I chart the course of the wind, tell the flowers when to bloom
I am the voice of the thunder, yet still give the birds their tune
And your summers will end neither too late nor too soon
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