At times we are but lonely trees
With ancient roots resisting release.
Burdened branches bent with old snow
Barren boughs that refuse to grow.
But then we become like shooting stars
Burning within, and visible from far.
A light that pierces impossible depths
Alive with life in the face of death.
We are so much higher then, than any eagle has dared to soar.
But isnt that exactly, what friends in the Lord are for?