All the small things in the woods

hold their breath as I pass by.

Who knows what I am missing

as I tramp through the mud?

But I am on the lookout for

the glisten of sun on new leaves,

ladyslippers and bluets,

spring ferns and mosses,

I am seeking a

glimpse of miracle,

asking to be made well,

grasping at the hem

of Your robe.