Morn

The mist rises like a soft veil off the pond
Playing here and there over the surface
Rolling, turning, blowing where it will
Awe is awakened in the mystery of becoming
Soft, silent Spirit joining the hands of devotion
Played out in the awakening of the soul
A call to morning thanksgiving, to breaking
Away the sorrows, a slow lifting of hands
Surrendered to the amazing start of day
Can you see the mystery if the tomb
Revealed by the shades of mourning?
Do we understand the awe of love reborn?
On the wings of opening ourselves to the
Everlasting mystery of graces power