By David De Jong
First light of morning, lifts the shade,
While evening’s stars, relent and fade.
Songbirds sing and coax the day,
Telling nocturnals; “Slip away”.
Tender pods asleep in the earth,
Reach for heaven, in joyous birth.
Infant sprouts shed their harvest home,
As resurrecting from their tomb.
A season of storms, tests their will,
Sunlight and calm, blesses their fill.
Blossoms of grandeur, nectar breeze,
Creation’s wonders, all from seeds.
Some grow once and fall to their knees,
Some grow old into ancient trees.
Bearing fruit in which way they can,
Sharing blessings from hand to hand.
Bringing sweet tastes of joy, soft scents of love,
These small gifts reaching for heaven above.