A Spring Morning

Just outside an open window
Mighty, agéd Oak stands sentinel.
New green leaves dance, sway
In time with gentle breezes.
Sun’s dappled beams filter through
The leaves, and the windowpanes.
Wind picks up, blows strong,
Supple branches twist and wave,
As leaves find their voice
Singing susurrus songs of spring.

Some say hymns must be solemn

Some say hymns must be
Solemn, sombre. No. Not always.
As I start to sing,
Hymning you here at evening,
Song shifts, suddenly, gives way
To brilliant peals of laughter.
Brimming, bursting with the blessing
Of your holy, honeyed presence.
Wordless, yet far from silent,
I hymn you with laughter.

Last Snows Melt in Spring

Last snows melt in spring.
And with roaring, resonant thunder
the rushing river runs on,
weaving a blanket of wind
and of sound, to wrap
the weary wanderer in the
comfort of a cool embrace.
While overhead, through hemlock branches
borne up on the breeze,
dappled sunbeams dance their dance.


With thanks to Andrew B. Watt, for suggesting (in a recent post) the 50-word format.