Spring Comes South
Spring Comes South
I take my pen in hand to write;
But what have I to say?
The moon is peeping through the pines
The stars are blithe and gay.
The night is alive with laughter;
The Honeysuckle wafts on the breeze.
The insects lift towards heaven.
Their assorted melodies.
Spring is in the South land;
With a beauty rich and rare.
Like a song in a solemn assembly;
God's presence fills the air.
It reminds of that garden;
Where dwelt the first of men.
I think of where we come from,
And where we could have been.
It is a time for a new beginning;
When all may have their chance.
The stars in the heavens are turning
In their own sweet cosmic dance.
Spring is a time for gladness.
When things are created new.
Death is replaced with new life.
Sadness is pushed out of view.
The Savior, a seed who was planted.
Dead, covered up in the earth.
But he came forth in beauty and power.
A Lilly alive through New Birth.
Spring is in the South land;
With a beauty rich and rare.
I can feel God's presence around me.
In the warmth of the sweet spring air.
Copyright © Wanda Daugherty | Year Posted 2019
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