gentler time


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



Wet Lands

The fiddler crab reached from under,
while grass grew from standing water.
Trees a century old hang over,
just off from dry Civil War mortar …
The quiet fields now left remain
and bridges cross to link the past…
Seagulls just off the ocean’s break,
haunts the memories that will last.
May we have a gentler time
and never to return to cause such grief;
I walk on through the battle field,
to return back from the sun’s relief.
Copyrighted:   CMM  2011
All rights reserved; photos