Walking up a mountain track. You hold my right hand as along we go. Far ahead, storm clouds crackle.
By the time we reach them, the sun will shine and warm air will be drying the ground.
Let me discern present from distant, Lord.
(Letter #2,787)
Walking up a mountain track. You hold my right hand as along we go. Far ahead, storm clouds crackle.
By the time we reach them, the sun will shine and warm air will be drying the ground.
Let me discern present from distant, Lord.
(Letter #2,787)