Where am I, where am I going?
Father lead me, blind that I am
weak, troubled, tired of dayís labor
I travel ever seeking, my hand
searches to touch thee, knees bend
to break my pride, humbling my stride
mundane, I tire, heart and mind
lifted in harmony, listen to whispers
still in the wind, as you talk to me
feeling your warmth, spirit fire
embracing me, tears flood, swelling
pleased, wet with our tripís years.
Jan G. Otterstrom F. 1/4/2012