Evening Delight
An evening delight awaits my eager eyes,
Soft pastels spanning the horizon,
The loving touch of God’s hand is evident tonight in the skies,
In the distance I see a majestic mountain like cloud formation.
A towering cloud emerges and appears like a volcanic eruption,
I see hints of power, yet gentleness in this huge pile of marshmallows,
Folding, rearranging clouds of whipped cream, now shapes of distinction,
Dipping and gliding then circling, so go the flock of swallows.
Rippling streaks follow in the jets wake,
Across the blue expanse leaving an extended trail,
Robins, sparrows and finches drink, bathe, give their feathers a shake,
As man ceases activity, nature’s peace and tranquility finally prevail.
Golden ball of fire shines bathing the earth in its heavenly rays,
Caressing the clouds with shimmering light,
Lining the bottoms with gold, with the colors it plays,
As the sun slowly meanders across the sky I watch this amazing sight.
Gently, as if with an artists brush, folding the meringue into a blazing glory,
Soft chiffon, cords of silk, wrapping clouds in iridescent luster,
He brought this forth from his endless wonderful quarry,
Delicate strokes in pink and blue appear, as if made by a feather duster.
Along the breadth of the horizon there remains this intoxicating vision,
Holding my attention, my mind mesmerizing my heart enthralling,
The scene every evening is new and different, with beautiful precision.
This spectacle of beauty, power and glory is my evening delight,
To watch, marvel and give thanks for this privilege to behold,
He knew this we would enjoy, a vision, a miracle, this breathtaking sight,
As close, our loved ones to our heart, we would hold.
©2007 Debra Bateman
Glorious Serenity
Inspired by the
Shimmering ball of golden satin,
Bathing the earth in warmth and light,
As down for the cold night, the earth does batten,
Cascading clouds of pure cotton fluff.
A rainbow, the whipped cream edges spears,
Though no arch above appears,
If only we could follow and see just where it goes.
Soft golden whispers graze perfect white bliss.
Columns rise of pure spun gold,
As splendor and majesty unfold.
The gentle strokes of his strong hand,
Of his love, sunsets are a reminder that forever will stand,
To all mankind he bestowed this jewel that we call land.
Muted rose folds into soft blues,
Like petals of flowers in gentle hues.
As it slides slowly and magnificently down,
Of his creativity it is truly a glorious crown.
Darkness the earth will soon shroud,
And will quickly the suns beaming rays hide,
Gazing on his grand works,
He surly feels rightfully proud.
©2007 Debra Bateman