Here

I will not sell you the moon
Though I've got in reserve
I only know your favorite tune
I'll hum it softly when you swerve

In the hands of gentle power
Finding peace, calm and restraint
In the dawn of a panicked hour
Holding the palette as you paint

No cause to hide nor live in fear
He's stronger still as lion roars
Quiet voice when storm draws near
Wind has failed, but we've got oars

Cannot be what you will not have
The box is wide and appliance filled
Each kiss a dollop of healing salve
Touch of powder so finely milled

Arms do crush away the pain
Rocking gently compassion's heart
And as the moods do wax and wane
Right again the apple cart

All rights reserved to James Martin Cox