Good Fortune
The lawn is lush,
and dappled by the dawn
beneath the appled bough
of the dewy apple tree;
the air is cool,
and newly cold,
but the sun is shining warm;
soon the sunshine's ray
will color all.
And by some subtle chance,
in happy happenstance,
the lottery of time,
I understand the shadows
where stands the dewy tree
and an apple gently falls
into a wisely waiting hand.
Fox
The Holy Spirit like a fox
is leaving footprints in the snow
through unexplored and woody waste
beneath the skydome's shifting glow.
Here the snowy prints are clear,
there they grow more scarce and dear,
but He is master of the snow.
The Holy Spirit like a fox
is sparking splendors in the sky;
above our heads the Northern Lights
a foxprint shows for seeking eye.
Bright above the snowy lawn
shifts the light of midnight dawn,
for He is master of the sky.
