March winds
already?
The winds of fear and disappointment
whip at my soul
mighty
raw wounds
revealing

Curled up – inpentrable
my Hope
assailed
it will not die
and with Job, I cry…

Yea though He slay me
I shall yet trust Him
Though He take all from me…

I will not let go
and with Jacob
I beg a blessing.

Rather be a limping dead woman
bound for heaven
Than alive and whole,
and loose my soul.