You are my oak.
In the strong timber of your arms
I gain strength
Find new dimension.
In the sturdiness of your being
With you as mooring
I am become a soul soaring,
Skimming mountains I could not climb,
Worshipping wild flowers I could not claim.
The touch of your hand,
Sweet berries of love
Splashing color on the brown earth of our lives.
I am released,
A high kite, winging free,
Its invisible string
Anchored firmly in your heart.
Copyright © 1994 by D.N. Sutton