Touray

Softly, frail hands pass by the dove,

Feathered out between my fingers,

A moment of peace grabbed,

and stayed,

Soon…I’ll want for nothing more than You,

Take me to that place,

Down by the water,

Where my heart is captivated,

And I am consecrated,

Into new,

Soon…I’ll ask for nothing more than You.

The wind  blows where it wills, and you can hear the sound it makes, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes; so it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit John 3:8

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