pastor appreciation poem

who is the runner in the skies
weak-winged is song
i love to steal awhile away
no prey am i of poor thoughts
tell me less or tell me more
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
to come so soon to this imagined dark
a storm is riding on the tide
do not turn your head
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
up from the meadows rich with corn
let a joy keep you
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
i sometimes wonder if it's really true