Humble Reasons Poem by William McGehee

It's not the rooster's crowing
That steals me from my dreams
But the quiet helpless peeping
From the fledglings o'er the eves.

It's not the violent calling
From the rooster on his guard
But the little sparrows searching
For their mother in the yard.

As it's not the martial sounding
Of the trumpet blown for war
But her quiet whispers loving
For which my spirits soar.

It's not the brilliant dying
Of a thousand ancient stars
But the innocence of crying
From the child in my arms.

It's not the height of power looming
Or the show of force defined
But humble reasons moving
My heart and, soul, and mind.