B
Sometimes things aren't what they seem, a seagulls scream to a babies cry,
a down trodden heart or a quiet persona don't always tell of the truth inside.
A knock at the door and a heart beats faster, the scented air and sweet sensation,
the watchman's cry to tell of arrival, . . just catching a glimpse then out of sight.
The memories of love with longing to hold, the feel of the hair and softness of skin,
the gleam in the eye that catches the breath, the soft spoken words of love, . . fall silent.
The hope of more and the yearning remembered, searching the streets and the fields,
accused of complacency, and beaten, and striped to shame and confuse, but never to yield.
Then comes the day through heat and exhaustion, through trial and tears comes the day,
To hold in my arms and never release Him, for He is mine, now and always.
a down trodden heart or a quiet persona don't always tell of the truth inside.
A knock at the door and a heart beats faster, the scented air and sweet sensation,
the watchman's cry to tell of arrival, . . just catching a glimpse then out of sight.
The memories of love with longing to hold, the feel of the hair and softness of skin,
the gleam in the eye that catches the breath, the soft spoken words of love, . . fall silent.
The hope of more and the yearning remembered, searching the streets and the fields,
accused of complacency, and beaten, and striped to shame and confuse, but never to yield.
Then comes the day through heat and exhaustion, through trial and tears comes the day,
To hold in my arms and never release Him, for He is mine, now and always.