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TITLE: Precious Gift By Linda L Creech 10/06/06 |
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I wander each morning
by Whispering Creek while moon
still reigns o’er ashen sky,
before the throng of life may rise
except a Babylon of birds
who know another day’s begun.
No soul will know that I am there,
but little creek who seeks to share
impending dawn.
Oh, joyous coming of the light
untouched by human cause,
I watch as Artisan may choose
unflawed the colors from a palette
spilled across fresh skies,
fusing pastel webs with inky shrouds
and sighs of night, hoarding
this precious time alone.
Linda L. Creech
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