Small Miracles Poem by Bryan Taplits

Stout miracles abound each day,
but lost and never seen,
Too late they are appraised and kenned,
a trove that's never been.
The dawn alites, the moon appears
the stars, the sky, the sun.
The grass so soft, the forests tall
Two 'twined then add on one.
The seasons all, and every bird
that flocks to summer's arms,
The wit a joke is made and grasped;
a cherished woman's charms.
Those cloistered splendors 'hope' and 'whim';
'Tomorrows' so sublime,
The sweet release of sneeze and sin.
Memoirs of prior times.
The brothers-each borne and lost-
but never to forget,
The memories that sweep-not shorn-
In trust and peace they rest.
Copious, covert and cached are these
in God's eternal charge,
Examples all of just 'common things'-
Small Miracles;
But each writ large.