Topic: Down in th wood | |
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Down in the wood there is a stream,
just larger than a brook, That seems to hold all my answers, as it travels to river. I can hear it as I sleep; Knowing that this is my place, knowing that this is my peace. Always giving me clues, so I find myself here again, at this stream, larger than a brook, conversing with God who knows; that this is my place, that this is my peace. As I watch a pastel coloured maple leaf, follow it’s path to river. Never being taken under, yet coming so close. I can smell God’s breath here; this is my place, this is my peace. No man has ever been here, but God and me. this cold morning, where I can see his whisper. saying to me; is my place, is my peace. I have never taken anyone, this secret place of mine. Hidden past the rock by the pine, where cold morning frost intertwines, This morning I find you at; my place, my peace |
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