Sonnet of Sundays

by Steve Huff

Once I climbed a childhood oak to stand
among the leaves and watch the sun rise.
In the first gold flooding the whispering land,
God’s voice was singing, “Be mine.”
When the sunlit church falls quiet now,
I look up to heaven to pray,
The organ notes glisten like teardrops--
God’s voice is singing of grace.
When night time slips over the fields,
draping orchards in rows of sweet shadow
then earth to rain may yield
and God's voice will sing to all "Sleep deep, now."
Come to him as a child at dawn among the early leaves,
Come to him as a child of song, come simply, and believe.

Steve Huff, © 2001

Steve Huff is a member of our Bipolar Disorder community, and originally posted this poem on our Forum.