A Summers Chill

Shadows play beneath a summers chill.

Arrangements coincide…decide.

All against the fallen will.

Clouds dark thunders coalesce.

Storms angst grows bitter dark.

Come said the night man; come in peace.

Wooden gates creak; cobble stone trails lead inside.

One hundred effusive angels gather to sing.

Oh Glory, oh Glory to He whom is most high.

Gates slam shut; stones turn a pale golden dust.

Jewels glisten against a dark swollen sky.

One thousand saints pray and trust.

Days of black hunger come and merry days hurriedly go.

Storm clouds on futures horizon softly gather.

They gather and they gather until on summers chill it begins to snow.

Dear Lord…grant us your grace and thy peace this day.

J. Allen Wilson © 8/8/08