Into my heart
this time of year slips quietly.
The silken fingers of angels
write their hymns of praise
across the morning sky.
Dark
brooding church steeples
injecting the sky into my gaze.
On God's quiet slope,
I rest ~
While
Christmas
comes
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
A sound of birds singing
It's early. And almost a year since I was here. I hear a sound of birds singing outside my window and a dog barking down the street. ...
-
Home. Dew on the car bonnet and falling leaves. Listening to the songs of sugar man and l... -
It's late and yet ~ on the still air the notes of my husband's flute are drifting upstairs like shooting stars. We... -
In a thousand moments I asked you to sing me a song of summer so I wouldn't have to let her go. It brought back a...
No comments:
Post a Comment
Pretty misty stars