Deborah Way

A Day Of Prayer

When the snow in the air is a remnant
of a former, flying glory-
When the snow on the ground is crusty and old,
or melted and refrozen hoary.
When the mist laying over the top of it all is new,
masking everything's story-

That morning,
Maker of All Things,
make me ready.

When the snow that is left hugs the base of the tree,
and every winged creature but the crow does flee,
When yellow and blue
Stripe the ground, two by two
Shadow and light,
For the trees can't take flight-

That evening,
FInisher of All Things,
give me rest.

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Poem Submitted: Friday, January 23, 2009

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