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Mists weave in and out of brush

In the forest, a stillness, a hush

Which lingers in the quietude

As morn begins its soft prelude

And wakens to the faintest breeze

Enveloped round the sleepy trees

A sanctuary, a forgotten place

Where life slows, to a calmer pace

A chance to disappear, unheard

Where nothing is said, not a word

And as the winds whisper in my ear

Light covets darkness, crystal clear

To show the beauty I’ve come to see

And rest mine, weary eyes on thee

Soak in, all those in nature’s attendance

The Glory of God, in subtle resplendence


April Writing Prompts – The sanctuary of subtleties – Day 24/30

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