Change…

In the still, small hours of the morning
When the day is yet to be,
Life’s gently whispered omen
Comes silently to me.

The bud that opened up within
Has become a precious tree...
Don’t look back where life has been,
But toward what is yet to be.

In seasons all things come to pass
We cannot alter that...
But know that in the stormy blast
We should be…where we’re at!

Copyright©2008 by VSchoonover. All rights reserved.