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TITLE: Where The Silk Wind Blows
By Yvonne Osborne
09/17/10
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He makes the clouds his chariot and rides on the wings of the wind. 4 He makes winds his messengers, flames of fire his servants. Psalm 104 v 3, 4

Where the Silk Wind Blows

I stood in the corn where the silk wind blows
Caressing its sway like gossamer thread,
The old stone church with its spire and tower,
Stood on the hill where the wild things flower
Under the trees that dapple and spread.

In a fathomless sky, there the evening sun
Tinged with flame where the sky-lark wings,
To glint on flint and the silvery plow,
Where the brown earth turned on a distant brow
And a blackbird brightly sings.

Lifting the scents of the well worn path
Strewn where the ripe corn spread its seeds,
A thousand poppies by the grassy edge,
White meadowsweet, sage and sedge,
By straight spired ranks of river reeds.

I stood in the corn where the silk wind blows,
Where whispers of angels rise and fall
From my lonely soul to the far off ground,
And heard on the winds of sacred sound,
“Fear not, for I love you best of all.”
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