Morning Before a Storm
Clouds with wings of gold
enfolded pale blue morning
that a moment died,
rose up white noon, and
O bright cumulus
flung clear around
my unsuspecting stratosphere!
How can even God
behold this gleaming day, yet stay
in place, while higher
every mile the sky grows! I
would tumble treeward
rumbling, See My Wonders, See
Creation Glowing, Hear My Thunder!
I, myself, although
no god or wing-blessed being,
must fling my senses somehow
high enough to reach
and reel among those sun-dipped fields
of light, dance there, cling there,
or of sheer worship die!
Page 8 (copyright 2001 Joanne R. Cage)
3rd prize, State, 1998
No comments:
Post a Comment