A feather
deeply bent on rocky shore,
borne down by
blasting wind—
How does it remain
fixed, unmovable?
It is white, light—even weightless
yet does not yield.
It will not be pried loose.
Feather's secret is posture—
humble, set low,
not lifting a fiber
amid the blow.
Not long and the
windy crush ceases.
Feather remains
whole upon its rock.
I am like that feather
as I bend low, on knees
hugging rock—
my sure foundation.
And here I stay
glad for the shelter
of Love's unchanging shore.
I will not raise
one finger
to measure the push
of cares.
I will trust
my God—
gentle, loving,
strong.
At peace, I rise
unruffled, untouched,
anchored safely
to my rock.
