The Swift Day Part 1 Poem by Marilyn Shepperson

Twas early in the morning
With sky still pink with dawn
The air was cool, damp with dew
As he rode through the forest
On a day that was filled with many promises
But one should not trust the day
For it is a fickle thing
Promises made at its beginning
May not be kept by evening
On through the forest, past tall trees
With breeze, birds and horse for company
Till he arrived at a lake, he loved well
From which he mist was still slowly rising
As he gazed, he thought he heard a voice
Lifted high and clear, a maiden singing
And it seemed to him, he heard his name
Coming from across the lake
With no way to cross, he went the long way round
Yet all the while, the angelic sound went on and on.