Meet me in this hammock

Of hallowed hope.

Swing me, gently,

By the hush of

Willows weeping,

And half babbling brooks

Awaiting the gracious gift

Of April’s first showers.

Allow me, in kind

To receive much of the same;

A hallowed hope,

A sip from your

Generous offering,

An all consuming peace

In the knowing

That what is needed

Is given at precisely

The right time by a hand

Not seen, yet feeds.

And a love not touched

Yet felt in every breath taken

Every moment given.