sunlight, splashing across
fresh-cut grass, leaving diamonds
affixed to each blade, like teardrops.
criss-crossing tree trunks and branches,
still Spring-bare with slightest buds,
interlace like fingers in prayer,
rising up from the earth.
dim, white-washed morning sky,
painted too thin across
the heavenly canvas, sweeps
away yesterday’s darkened thoughts,
as the birds cry out, “good morning!
good morning!” “heigh-ho! heigh-ho!”
in the morning stillness, the house
sighs with furnace blowers and
creaks with popping timbers.
no one else stirs beyond sleeping breaths,
and i wait for Your voice
and all the diamond-treasure graces
You bring fresh each morning.