Sifting through the archives,
What a gift my Lord has laid,
Of fragments of his Glory shining,
In my lap for days and days,
To sit with me and dwell so near,
To mark with me His glory along the way,
On the pages of my life,
As He shows me to obey.

A lake of crystals slumps into the earth before me,
Serpentine ripples dance along the watery film and glide over the heaps of sand,
It washes the ground in dilute blues.

A tired thirst doubts the sight,
Sounding out a quiet flutter of wings that ascends into a pulsing murmuration,
A quick wave of the hands and the water turns to vapour,
And the mirage recedes.