How hesitant the snow in golden afternoons,
Low ever glancing on the bricks but off too soon,
I wish you'd have a warm embrace,
But no. It is too much for you
for now.

Find rest you weary soul,
The Lord has promised so,
When walking seems a heavy business,
Turn from yourself to His great throne,
Look squarely at the one ever beside,
On Him more weight than you could know,
Your heaviness on Him that you would find His rest.

By means of bark and branches,
I am become a tree,
Firm hold the little squirrelses,
I cast them out like heated breath,
That clouds the air and fades careless,
They are at once unseen,
Into the frosty air and out into the mess,
Of roots and curling leaves.

Balance,
It's all about the balance they whisper,
Spewing velvet lies like heaps of broiling mustard gas,
We weigh with faulty scales, don't you see?!

But they don't see,
Loving what destroys in the darkness,
Loving fools' gold in the place of life,
Loving life in place of eternity.

Nerves die with the rest, don't you see?!
Pleasure is so quickly dim,
And reality is awaiting like a lion,
For you to climb into its jaw in your stupor.

You'll only find it when you lay down your scales for His,
One day your scales will be rebuilt,
But now they are as though rubbish to you,
I urge you, throw them out.