I stretch out my hand and take up my pen
I search my heart and soul, and then
I touch my pad and begin to write
I struggle with my thoughts, both day and night
I strive to find that voice within
The one that guides my life, and then
I think of light born and shadows falling
To create a world of words, a poet's calling
To express with form, make the real transcend
Bring still things to life, tell tales, and then
With a stroke of my brush across an empty plane
I offer up my life, my joy, my pain
Share the eagle's flight upon the wind
Sing the mournful song of whales, and then
Speak of bird and bee, of hawk and dove
Speak of birth and death, of truth and love
Of God and man, of stars that spin
Of angel's eyes, of grace and sin
To give to all my now, my when
In hope you'll feel my gift, and then
I search my heart and soul, and then
I touch my pad and begin to write
I struggle with my thoughts, both day and night
I strive to find that voice within
The one that guides my life, and then
I think of light born and shadows falling
To create a world of words, a poet's calling
To express with form, make the real transcend
Bring still things to life, tell tales, and then
With a stroke of my brush across an empty plane
I offer up my life, my joy, my pain
Share the eagle's flight upon the wind
Sing the mournful song of whales, and then
Speak of bird and bee, of hawk and dove
Speak of birth and death, of truth and love
Of God and man, of stars that spin
Of angel's eyes, of grace and sin
To give to all my now, my when
In hope you'll feel my gift, and then
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