This Summer is my last,
Unless I at last see
Something beckoning me further
Through weeping willow trees.
I cannot stay much longer,
For Someone beckons within,
To write, to inscribe my own heart
Before my soul wears thin.
Alas, my dear, I've wandered
Far and sought to be
True to my heart and questions
And now I shall be free.
And now I shall be free
Until my Lord he calls,
To bring me some place elsewhere
Where once again I'm small.
Smaller than where I started
A trifle wiser too.
I pray, my dear, to our God
That I be called to you.
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