Whispers

Watch cascading water falling, down the moist and mossy rocks
See the birds flit and flutter, as leaves gently drop
Smoky Mountain trails that wind, calling to the stout of heart
With the silent wind of promise, to wander in their fragrant fog
Far away the world is busy, with the urgent and the loud
But here among the ferns and frogs, noise is simply not allowed
Here a soul can seek "The Master," and listen for His prompt reply
Gentle as a small child's whisper, - tender as it's stiffled cry
Will you stay a few brief moments, to seek some solace from above?
To listen as Our Father calls, - in a distant, cooing dove.

Copyright 2008
Stan Simons/ASCAP