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The Gift

Posted: Tue Jun 10, 2014 2:11 am
by rmbowen
We spent a lot of time on patrol thinking about wives, girlfriends and family. Those are the obvious things. But we also missed things that we otherwise took for granted: The sound of rain on the roof and the smell of wet pavement. The feeling of the sun on one's face in the summer. The bite of winter's wind. The sounds and sights of a summer storm. The feeling of a nearby clap of thunder resonating in one's breast.

This poem remembers these kind of things.

The Gift

Fog lying on the pasture in the morning,
A silver blanket silent and still.
A distance rooster crows his warning
As the sun peeks over the hill.

The sun clings to the horizon
As if kissing a dear friend goodbye.
But soon his work will be done,
So reluctantly he climbs the sky.

The sunlight forms thin golden needles
Filtering down through trees,
Revealing diamonds, rubies and emeralds;
Bright dewdrops on the grass and leaves.

Thus, on earth, another day is born,
But only by the grace of God’s hand.
How many appreciate the beauty of morning?
It’s God’s daily gift to man.

©2013 Roy Mack Bowen