How many times now have I slipped away,
And gone to explore these woods?
I know You see me.
I feel Your eyes watching from the path.
But I won’t turn around.
If I see Your face,
Unobstructed even by a million trees,
I’ll return to You,
But there are fabulous things here,
And I am but a child.
Captive of whim.
Pulled endlessly in every direction,
By the countless distractions of life.
Running blindly ahead,
I trip.
I fall down the hillside.
Tumbling.
Sliding.
Plummeting.
Until I hit the bottom.
Picking up my battered body,
And crushed soul,
I stand in the dark places,
Where the trees loom over me,
Like clawing monsters,
With twisted faces,
And I burst into tears.
It’s then that I remember You.
But I’ve run so far,
And fallen so long,
How can I return?
I turn my tear-stained face back,
And find You kneeling,
Arms outstretched,
Just behind me.
Still standing on the path.