The Search
The Search
I looked for God, but couldn't find him;
In the City's busy streets.
I heard no sound but roaring engines.
Saw no sight but running feet.
Turned I then toward the woodland,
Where the stately Oak tree grows.
I saw His footprint in the meadow,
And His blood upon the rose.
Paused I there to look and listen,
Felt His presence in the rain.
On the grass the raindrops glisten,
At His command the thunder came.
I am here, the Spirit whispers,
in a hundred million flowers;
God's name is written in the heavens.
Evidence of His great power.
We have eyes but do not focus;
For we have lost the precious key;
God is here and all around us.
If our eyes would only see.
Copyright © Wanda Daugherty | Year Posted 2019
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