Painted Skies

With each new morning, Lord, the skies are painted
With blushing reds and pinks that turn to gold
The sleepy ocean fidgets under breezes
While morning’s glory rapidly grows old.

The banks of cloud that have been ocean’s blanket
Rise slowly from horizon’s gentle hold
While birds appearing black against the sunlight
Stretch out their wings to swoop and glide, now bold.

And so we joy in God’s renewed creation
And gazing upward hope for a great day
He promised us a hope and guided future
Rest in His love that never fades away.

Come sunshine, storm or pain He has a reason
Our goal a direct line to Heaven above
Spurred on by praying saints through every season
While wrapped around with God’s eternal love.

W.B July ‘14