In the Lord’s gardens, passion strays,
A restless longing, night and day.
I long to vanish in Your grace—
How do I find that sacred place?

In the Lord’s forests, sorrow dwells,
It fades beneath the cruel spells.
I know the script, its lines by heart—
Too little light, too dim a start.

I’ll weave my passion, twine my woe,
A thread for Ariadne’s glow.
She’ll find You, Lord, through shadowed lands,
And break the dark with gentle hands.

October 2020