The Snow

To prove the way a prayer's answer
Is given, I, a word, will speak
Today, this full bodied thought.
The snow, meant to come and bluster,
Would make the wagon's wheels be cold
On route to work in morning's day.
Yet, the white blanketed land made
By a fresh snowfall, is found fay
When the snow falls on Winter's eve.
Thus, confounded, on which to want
I prayed anxiously for no snow.
Yet, the snow it came, and melted
Leaving its frost upon the knolls,
But all the paths safe to travel,
I realized how a prayer finds ans.
So, as I write my work, my poems,
I woke to see the snow so fond,
A prayer is answered thus, so pray;
Lay at thy Savior's feet alone,
And see to have your prayers one day.

And then the next day, I see the 
Foot race down the bare, frozen path.
I see myself moved against it
While the runners busily haste.
How it is, they hasten to wrath
Busily upon their highway
Doing their vain activities
While I suck the marrow from the
Forest, enjoying snow once laid
For me, for that too is like prayer.
Though fat and bulbous and ugly,
I understand what they cannot.
They run for beauty, health and wealth.
I carefully another way
Will walk, paced at my Savior's side
Knowing one day all beauty shall be mine.