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.