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- Posts: 61
- Joined: Wed Oct 25, 2006 7:25 pm
- First Name: Roy
- Last Name: Bowen
- Crew?: Both
- Which Years on Board: 1967-1971
- Special Crew?: Neither
- Rate: EM2(SS/DV)
This poem remembers these kind of things.
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
1967-1970 blue crew April 1970-1971 gold crew