Folded Wings

         Shallow as
         the thirsty river
         bends beyond the eddy sweet,
         wraps the weary soul in rapture,
         far beneath
         her warm retreat.

         Folded wings
         and silver archers
         stand along the river's wide,
         watching still for fallen angels,
         now returned
         by ancient tides.

         Tis the soul's
         resounding measure,
         silent prayer, one breath to know;
         rests within the rapid's shimmer,
         to bring us
         safely to the fold.

         Rocks of truth
         deceive the surface,
         glisten ripe with mossy choice;
         til the banks are overflowing
         far beyond
         the river's voice.

         Hark the sound
         of many waters,
         speak of glory in release;
         know the secrets I am keeping,
         e'er you then
         remember me.

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