I'm going oh-so-slow around a nasty, wicked curve,
And of all the things I could have done, for this I lost my nerve?

I never thought a little caution would throw me to the wind,
But now I'm being blown so far, my flight may never end.

And yet it seems I always find a weight to pull me down--
My wings have changed from white into a muddy, murky brown.

And falling, I cry out in fear for someone to be near--
And then I hear You softly calling, "Yes, child, I am here."

~1998

06/01/1998

Posted on 09/24/2003
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