Winter Morning
That great orange ball of fire
arose,
slowly, in the Eastern sky;
And gave me hope that, perhaps today,
the temps would begin to get high.
The beauty reflected on the crusty
snow
left a poet, though cold, in awe;
How could I describe Nature's canvas
when I was speechless at what I saw.
Each time the sun gives birth to
a day,
it is never quite the same
As the others that have gone before -
even given a name.
How beautiful is nature -
knowing when and where and why;
It gives love unconditionally
and we view it with our eye.
Beauty makes a heart light -
puts a smile on my face;
So I look around - not wanting to miss
even a tiny trace
Of winter's white, or autumn's
hues,
or the grandeur of summers and spring;
And, like a bird, my load is lifted
and my heart begins to sing.
Joan Adams Burchell
(copyright)
January 24, 2004
