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
©2019 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
Photo Via Pixabay
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