Sweet whirlings of a tired
Storm.
Rests head upon breast of a time
Begone.
Silent sounds of nothing reach the
Chest.
As nature fills her
Nest.
The song sings in glorious
Voice.
To rise above what is thought is
Choice.
Settle upon the brow and
See.
That this world is following
Thee.
It sits and stares and
Cares.
Beyond a mortal
Sense.
It wishes you
Recompense.
It lives and
Loves.
And comforts thee
Most times when you do not
See.
Rest soul, thy little
One.
For in that rest, your mind is
One.
With the sound and look and feel of love
You will peace catch as a cooing dove.
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