I hear the sound,
of distant drums,
bidding me,
to His battle come.
I hear the sound,
of a loaf of bread,
bidding the hungry,
come be fed.
I hear the sound,
of the word of God,
bidding me,
to follow it’s leading,
as I travel this sod.
I hear the sound,
of the writer’s pen,
as they write their notes,
giving encouragement,
as they share their quotes.
I hear the sound,
of a distant cry,
as God’s children,
ask why O why?
I hear the sound,
as God does say,
be patient my child,
while I mold your clay,
and you will stand,
perfect one day!
Wint68 