Language of the Trees
It has been in rustlings of the pages that God usually speaks to me,
Gently, a whisper, a breeze - like the language of the trees.
Once or twice a thunder clap, a lightning bolt so clear
Because I forget His name is Jealous, & that wisdom equals fear.
But I always find Him waiting, in the Book that is His sword
Patiently guiding, teaching, revealing the ways of the sovereign Lord.
