Before Your Crown

A rhymer...

How softly sings the wind of late

Through leaves of golden brown

How softly it caresses those

Who kneel before your crown

 

The rain is never far of late

And though the sky is blue

Never long does the ground stay dry

As the rain it bows to you

 

The river is swelled much of late

And it creeps on up the hill

To where you sit upon your throne

To praise you is its will

Reviews

[Beatrice Mars]

Love. Lovely words and imagery.