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by Rob Dilworth © 2017

My troubles seem a mountain high
And there’s no way across.
This mountain’s grown to touch the sky;
But soon will know who’s boss.

Oh, mountain standing tall and proud,
It’s time for you to move.
My God and I feel three’s a crowd
And I have faith to prove.

For faith as small as mustard seed
Will cause a mountain - steep,
To bow before its Lord, indeed!
Hear now my need and leap.

“But who are you”, I heard him say,
“To tell me what to do?
You’ll never move my rock and clay,
You surely know it’s true.”

Yet, what are mountains but a mound
Of dirt and rock and sod?
Can you refuse divinely crowned,
Empowered child of God?

My power doesn’t come from me
And neither does my will.
Before my God Almighty flee,
You itty-bitty hill.

This poem won 2nd place for the August 2017 poetry contest

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