I’m glad to see the rising sun It tells by sight stories unspoken. It paints my curtain perfect green. Divine love woke me to a new start, A new life, something to celebrate. When I gather the curtains To glance through tree lines And green field glittering in the sun, The rays catch my breath,…
Spreading her white net, morning awakens to her duties, gathering fresh scents from flowers and dew. She casts her images upon the clouds— heavenly paintings, a creation, perfect and gentle, a gift given to man.
Hail the sun rises with her gold, Across the horizon she paints the land The green great plains lay low, Watching her presence grow. The hills rise to meet her warmth, Desiring the joy she brought to the hamlet.
