Through the haze, I see you standing there.
I see you and then again where?
In a tree, I see you.
In the side of a mountain, I see you!

As I begin to make out the figure,
My eyes begin to tear.
Cold, clammy, no breath, heart beating…
I start to run and stumble in the clear.

The figure comes near, I shudder with fear!
In the middle of the blue mist,
I can see a face…
Who is it and what is this place?

I close my eyes to open them again.
Bright and shining…I squint.
Hand held out, standing here.
Jesus was my fear!

By:Rachel


A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.