Under the bough of a great tree
with eyes closed
I see through the curtains of my eyelids
gray black shadows
like lightening flashing above me.
Winds full of beauty
form a chorus between leaves
with praise unleashed, applauded by angels.
I am clay,
named though not forgotten,
secured and planted,
protected and watered,
encouraged and forgiven.
In this life I am a whisper of hope,
a breath of His mercy.
Roger Singer 