Prayer at Timber-line / Ruth Suckow

Prayer at Timber-line


Oh, that I could fashion words As the wind bends the trees— Could shape my lines as shining-bare, As exquisite, as these White branches of the writhen pine Standing alone at timber-line! Winds of life, blow stinging-free Into my heart that’s waiting, still! Beat on my words unceasingly, And shape them to your stern white will!