holds it aloft
in a bed of snow
mould, as she takes
Sometimes, I still feel so small,
Looking up at distant height;
Sometimes, forward’s just a crawl,
When soul desires freedom’s flight.
But just as trees need lifetime’s span,
So my progress time requires;
Just as pine from seed began,
So my heart grows what’s desired.
Lord, remind your daughter small
That You delight in stages earned;
Walking comes when first I’ve crawled,
And flying after running’s turn.