The Dance of the Swallows

bench

Quietly content

Appetite for food and conversation satisfied

Appreciation met

The polar side of disappointment sighs

 

One fallen makes a bench

The living sing in whispers, breezes pass

A tranquil place to rest

Above the ever reminiscent grass

 

Senses all alert

Yet dulled are each disturbance of the mind

Input boundaries blur

The sun’s warm trumpets fill the hush of chimes

 

Swallows swoop and dance

I realize amidst my watchful trance

That God did choreograph

Each bird’s flight with His magnificence

 

As I look around

The truth is in the place where my eyes rest

The hand of beauty now

Is the hand by which I have always been blessed

 

How great the ministry

Of those who fill the darkness with His light

How beautiful the feet

Of those who bring the news of God to life

(March, 2014)