Poeticpiers
04-26-2004, 12:31 PM
Morning hymn.
A dot I see high in the sky
that pours forth sweet melody.
The skylark sings her joyous song
and never gets a grace note wrong.
The music that she sweetly sings.
When borne aloft on feathered wings
that falls to earth like sweet spring rain
fills me with wonderment again
and makes me weep I know not why
for joy. Not from melancholy.
Oh what a joy to wander free
across the dew drenched fields at dawn
and listen to a symphony
of such triumphant clarity.
Above the meadows that lie still
to listen to each separate trill
of that sweet songster who can see.
The beauties of the newborn day.
That she must sing is all she knows
for she was born to sing the praise.
Of His great majesty the sun
who signals that the day’s begun.
By slowly gilding mountain tops
and smiling on the growing crops.
He drives away the morning mist
which dare not wait to be sun kissed
He touches every flower that grows
highlights their beauty with his rays.
The skylark and the morning sky.
Belong to those who rose early
and ventured forth in joy to greet
the dawning day. Where they will meet
very few of their fellow men
who stirred but fell asleep again.
Those early hours I claim as mine
Inspired by music so divine
I do not have the words to say
How dear the morning is to me.
Apr-04
:D :D
A dot I see high in the sky
that pours forth sweet melody.
The skylark sings her joyous song
and never gets a grace note wrong.
The music that she sweetly sings.
When borne aloft on feathered wings
that falls to earth like sweet spring rain
fills me with wonderment again
and makes me weep I know not why
for joy. Not from melancholy.
Oh what a joy to wander free
across the dew drenched fields at dawn
and listen to a symphony
of such triumphant clarity.
Above the meadows that lie still
to listen to each separate trill
of that sweet songster who can see.
The beauties of the newborn day.
That she must sing is all she knows
for she was born to sing the praise.
Of His great majesty the sun
who signals that the day’s begun.
By slowly gilding mountain tops
and smiling on the growing crops.
He drives away the morning mist
which dare not wait to be sun kissed
He touches every flower that grows
highlights their beauty with his rays.
The skylark and the morning sky.
Belong to those who rose early
and ventured forth in joy to greet
the dawning day. Where they will meet
very few of their fellow men
who stirred but fell asleep again.
Those early hours I claim as mine
Inspired by music so divine
I do not have the words to say
How dear the morning is to me.
Apr-04
:D :D