Caress this my most solitary moment; stroke softly of its peace.
Warm are the aspirations which come swift on a southern breeze.
So reach forth thy hand quickly, for it is only a passing chance in time.
Gather now of its healing as it all too soon becomes a memory held chaste in the silent places of the mind.
Oh sweet is this southern dream that plays out its days.
Pleasant are the woods that whisper; Oh God’s creation that calls my name.
So touch now this thought and bring it in to your soul.
Feel the wind as it brushes past your face; feel the moment made whole.
J. Allen Wilson © 5/2008