Blessings on the breezes
Each Sunday morning, Church bells ring,
in peals of happy laughter;
I can't help pray, and softly sing,
of hope for ever after.
We take the shortcut, straight to Church,
Through a shady avenue;
Where every sunbeam, seems to search,
enlightening our way through.
I love to walk this silent route,
beneath blossom laden trees;
That shower petals (sometimes fruit)
on an angels' breath like breeze.
In Church, I bow my head, and kneel in fervent prayer,
My little son is smiling, at the pink petals in my hair...
Comments about this poem (Blessings on the breezes by Roann Mendriq )
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