TITLE: We Spoke of Leaves
By Yvette Roelofse
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Or maybe take a quiet walk
Along this woodland path.
The night is damp, the shadows deep,
And, Lord, my restless soul won’t sleep
For thinking of my life, my worth,
My very meaning on this earth.
How long is it since I was here?
Hearing your voice so soft and clear
Within the hush of leaves?
They whisper in their fragile flight
To where I stand with You tonight;
And, Lord, I wonder: Do they believe
That there is hope for fallen leaves?
They lie so silent, like a prayer
Unspoken in the soundless air,
Humbled in their plea.
No longer green or strong or proud
Broken upon this sodden ground;
Yet in their weakness, Lord, I see,
The beauty of their destiny.
Ah, Lord, I wanted to talk of things
Of substance, things with wings;
Not things that die upon the earth.
But You, Lord, spoke of things that fall
So they might learn, and they might call
On You to bring from death, new birth;
And in their humility find their worth.
I came here, Lord, alone and grieved;
But I am blessed: We spoke of leaves.
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