Moonbeams on my face awaken me, and in the darkness I
watch yellow ghosts dance on walls of blue. A cool
breeze rustles the lace at my window, and the sounds of
the evening grow still as the birds begin the greet the morn.
Their joyous song rises to the heavens as I rise from my bed
with a shiver. Pulling on my robe, I glance out of the window
and wonder at how the birds are so anxious to greet the day
before the sun has even risen. They want for nothing, and
rely totally on their Maker to take care of them. What must it
be like to trust that much? What must it be like to greet
each day with song?
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Comments: 18
good job..
That's such a unique and special thought. Wonderful poem.
In my own case. I had to suffer some hard knocks to learn some special lessons.
It had a lovely C & W rhythm to it. Well done.
you are very creative...lovely thoughts..
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