can a really bad poem that I wrote thirteen years ago be a prohecy in disguise?
The Lady stands tall in the harbor
Keeping one light on for me
She will wait, and keep a vigil
‘Til returning, I am free.
Far away the journey takes me
Mercy as my only guide
Days uncertain, heart so heavy
I will wait to be His bride
‘Til then I’ll go where He leads me
‘Til then I will walk alone
Winds grow steady; I am certain
That this place is not my home.
Led by One who knows my future
Not afraid to leave the past
Let go of what doesn’t matter
Hold on to the things that last.
Time will tell, I guess . . .