Winter sneaking through the trees
with his bag of salt.
Winter sneaking through the trees
with his bag of salt.
Dark days coming ain’t nobody’s fault.
Used to think love was coming
when the old one went.
Used to think love was coming
when the old one went.
Now I make my own fire
down in my empty tent.
Preacher says my soul hurt
is why Jesus bleed.
Preacher says my soul hurt
is why Jesus bleed.
See me on my hands and knees
lookin’ for my mustard seed.
Copyright 2017 Doug Anderson
Doug–what a beautiful poem! Thank you.
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