A Morning In December
Morning broke; it shattered nicely,
the fallen ice spoke spirits
in orifices of rapture;
twixt the glade, seasonly came,
early, always,
and unnoticed,
waking we to ponder, when?
and again, when,
we emerge from our own
homilies of fragile and
intermittent vitality,
to ponder the cause
of nature, as our wondrous,
manifest God.
Copyright © Jen Finnigan | Year Posted 2009
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