Where did the glow of the morning go

When I peared out the window of my soul.

The colors had to be painted by God

For them to enter the rhelm of my being.

For no artist in his best works

Could have mixed his colors

As the sight that I had seen

That is embellished by God's hand.

I, a mere mortal, have seen

What God has prepared in His

Heavenly kingdom, but have I died?

For only then could this have happened.