The nights are so long and sleep a butterfly that I chase.
It flys so ever lightly through my mind and lites but for a moment.
My eyes get heavy and my body so weary from the night.
Three o'clock the witching hour.
Your fear of death sets in.
Will death come to take you in the dark?
Night after night the pattern repeats until the break of dawn.
The butterfly circles over head and I long for it to lite and rest upon my soul.
But your fear of death is like a net that spreads over our place of rest.
The butterfly ever so elusive cannot be caught or it's death would come.
For the strength of God it carries on it's wings then could not be spread.
No sleep would ever come to refresh the body and soul.
Butterfly o'butterfly so gently lite upon me that I may feel the strength of God flowing over me.
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Karen
