The Bird and Baby

Every winter has its end.
Every night must surely pass,
Giving way to brilliant streams,
Of golden, amber light.

Azure skies replace the dark.
A precious pause of peaceful bliss,
Gently fades for the joyous,
Hymns of meadowlarks.

The world itself awakens,
And erupts into glorious song.
The sky rises,
Like the tide of the sea.

Here we stand,
An eternally humbled audience,
Captured by a tyrannical display,
Of beginnings.

But this won’t be the last,
For it is not the first.
Our lives are filled with dawns and sunsets;
Meetings and partings.

Whether third or thirtieth,
It matters not.
There no limits,
To be found in grace.

The colors of our skies,
Will surely carry on;
The very heavens in your eyes,
Your voice as soft as starlight.