November 11, 1994

sidetracked

waylaid by a dream

walking secure

I am tripped up by a whim

a passing flight of fancy

holding no promise for tomorrow

beauty is fair to behold

its pleasures all too real

so sweetly it calls

but hardly comparing

to the beauty of Him

whose love didn’t tempt

didn’t lie or deceive

but brought Him to die

for such a one as I