A hint of chill,
A wisp of crispness
in the air.
A gentle breeze,
Just slightly cold.
An achy joint,
If you are old.
The geese are flying
And clouds are lying
in lazy drifts —
Their white belying
The darker clouds to come.
We pull the sweaters
From our dressers —
the furnace on.
The harvest dawn —
The crops are gathered
And birds are scattered.
What is the reason
For changing seasons?
To keep awake
And not to take
for granted —
The wonder of creation.
Four lanes of traffic —
Morning commute.
Lord, let there be more than this.
Lord, let Your will be done.
Where are they going?
Mothers and fathers,
Students and singles.
Lord, let Your will be done.
Faces in cars;
We’re in this together.
Where are they going?
Lord, let Your will be done.
By highways and byways,
Twists and turns,
Detours and accidents,
Lord, let Your will be done.
There’s a Final Destination,
A place that we must choose —
A heaven or a hell.
Lord, let Your will be done.
clarakatalin 