A mist of a song wavers along the floor in the sanctuary silence.

You reach in your pocket for a mother’s hug,

Something to get you out of this old shoe bottomless pit

And start your journey.

An investigation begins.

You search somewhere for a bag, full of happiness,

With homemade cookie love.

Sitting in an empty chair’s welcome,

You say a hundred books’ goodbye to the world around you.

You dip your toes in the waters of belief as

You wait for the sparkle in her eyes to reach your ear.

And hope, rather than ink, springs from your pen

As you wait for God to appear on your paper,

For Him to speak in fortune cookie randomness.