Beneath the skies of morning gold,
Where whispers stir the trees of old,
The sun ascends with gentle light,
A daily gift, serene and bright.
The rivers hum a sacred tune,
They mirror stars and cradle moon.
Each drop, a prayer the heavens keep—
A lullaby for hearts that weep.
The mountains rise in quiet grace,
God’s fingerprints on time and space.
Their silence speaks in holy tones,
A truth far deeper than our own.
The flowers bloom with no pretense,
Pure miracles of innocence.
A blade of grass, a drifting cloud,
All praise His name without a sound.
The birds that dance upon the breeze,
Their wings like psalms among the trees—
They do not toil, nor do they fear,
Yet all they need, the Lord makes clear.
O let my soul not miss the sign—
That every breath, each step, is mine
Because of mercy, not of right,
Because His love restores my sight.
So here I stand with grateful eyes,
Beneath the ever-changing skies.
For nature’s song and life’s sweet span,
I thank the heart of God-made man.
@WRJ
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