My world changes before me,
Stunning in the natural dance,
All magnificent life around me,
Guided by a trusted hand,
Never once having been left to chance.

Green is the beauty of summer,
Brilliant are the hues of fall,
Stark winter makes me long for succulence,
In spring all is borne again,
She is the queen and master of all.

So, too, do we have our seasons,
As does the cycle that we see,
Borne in spring, we are raised in summer,
Colors boasted in the fall,
At winter's end we are set free.

My earth may quake beneath my feet,
And the winds blow with a mighty roar,
I may sail upon the flood of ages,
And land upon the highest mountain,
There to settle the final score.

Who is it who would quantify the riches,
Given in the course of age?
Who would stand and ask for more,
Not silenced,
Forever filled with rage?

Only take a moment,
But do it every day,
To consider your bough of joyous song,
Just yours...
Then fall to your knees and pray.