I am the rock at the top of the mountain,
Battered by gusting, wild, keening winds,
Looking out over valleys and winding roads.
The seasons molt beneath my feet,
Changing day by day with the birds, with the trees,
In the ground, and in the folds of the land.
And so years pass by. A century is as nothing.
People carve their names into my age-old stone and go,
But I am content to be where I am.
about meI'm a poet and amateur naturalist who loves Jesus wholeheartedly. (...Read more.)
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Copyright"Praising Jesus" (c) 2012 Jessie Urgo unless authorship otherwise noted.