Fleeting Winds of Yore

Fleeting Winds of Yore

Ah, the fleeting winds of yore,
As seeing with Gods own eye,
As the breeze upon the shore,
I feel his presence oh so nigh.

Such a world divinely inspired,
From a thought we were devised,
From holy men who’ve ascended higher,
With that rite we on Earth arrived.

Born into a world made by those,
Who cross all of space and time,
Raised by parents whose faith they show,
By teaching us of a plan divine.

A plan that brings us back to grace,
The only one within it be,
A story told of a holy place,
A place I wish that I could see.

With those winds of yore I fly,
Along a road paved in the sky,
A golden path my feet will trod,
To ascend the heights to meet my God.

And when I meet Him I will rise,
As I have dreamt, stand on my feet,
I will look my God in His holy eyes,
And He will honor me as I speak.

With Him a few words I will share,
Nothing fancy, complex, great or long,
I just say, “Thank you for listening to my prayers,
And letting me know that thou art my God.”

-Jacob Winterfeldt