I know whose woods these are, I know
The wind below and falling snow.
A measure of time lost to the years
the way I found, a path to forgo.
These woods belong to the One above
He watches the trees and birds with love
the animals are wrapped by graceful arms
as He sends forth His pure white dove.
I ran through the clearing, unaware
of His breath, resting upon my very hair.
He covers me with His grace unearned
For He is with me, and constantly there.