A bright blue sky far overhead,
 With fluffy clouds that race,
And sometimes join together
just To show a stormy face.
Wide rivers on a journey
 that Can never know an end,
Nor ever give away what lies
 In wait around the bend.
Great trees that grow so very tall,
As if to reach the sky,
And leaves that rustle softly there,
 When wind goes blowing by.
The flowers peeking through green grass
In every shade and hue;
The sweetness of wild berries picked
While fresh with morning dew.
I wonder at the time that's left
For me to drink my fill
Of God's great works and artistry,
Thus painted at his will.
And should tomorrow be the day
My eyes are closed in rest,
Weep not for me -- for
I have seen God's painting at its best.

© 2002 Loree (Mason) O’Neil

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