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| Photo by J. Trent |
The Wood
By John Trent
In quiet reverence, wind’s whispered rush
Breath drifts heavy on the morn's frigid air
Alone I walk to a red bird's hymn
Sweet echoes linger in this cathedral of wood
Mirrored panes on a pond’s leafed edge
With painted reflections of a crooked oak
Crystalline shrouds wrap a saplings branch
As time stands frozen, slowly I pass
Gray veils drape bent outstretched limbs
Blue portals exposed in the canvas above
Pillars of gold bathe silvery-green blades
Touching earth's spirit with warmth and grace
Hand in hand, I conversed with God
My soul enchanted by her gentle embrace
Forever as one with this sanctuary of wood
On a pathway through Heaven, I walked today
Breath drifts heavy on the morn's frigid air
Alone I walk to a red bird's hymn
Sweet echoes linger in this cathedral of wood
Mirrored panes on a pond’s leafed edge
With painted reflections of a crooked oak
Crystalline shrouds wrap a saplings branch
As time stands frozen, slowly I pass
Gray veils drape bent outstretched limbs
Blue portals exposed in the canvas above
Pillars of gold bathe silvery-green blades
Touching earth's spirit with warmth and grace
Hand in hand, I conversed with God
My soul enchanted by her gentle embrace
Forever as one with this sanctuary of wood
On a pathway through Heaven, I walked today
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