I sit in my early morning quiet spot
Where I go to hear God
And hopes he will listen as I pray

The night still lingers
The air heavy and damp
The quiet crickets not far away

The old oak tree my morning friend
Salutes upward to morning stars
sweet breeze sways the leaves

The soft rustle of the branches
Speaks gently to remind me the
Spirit calls me to believe.

Christine McNeill-Matteson

 

 

Copyrighted 2019  CMM