The Still Voice
Don't ask for thunder or for lightning,
Earthquakes or smoking molten ashes;
Don't ask for storm and swirling debris.
Sharpen your ear for the small still voice,
The gentle dew that drips from heaven,
Watering dry fields, bubbling over
Bumps and down dips toward the river
Whose streams make glad the city of God.
© 2015
Copyright © Celestine Ikwuamaesi | Year Posted 2015
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