The Song

Portmagee, Ireland

Days and weeks without a song

Reticence enfolding

Thoughts swirling quickly but never formed

Outward form withholding

But birds kept singing on and on

And blue skies filled the morning

The trees broke forth in full array

The scent of flowers forming

You say if I will not sing out, the rocks will praise Your Name

I choose to sing, to praise, to say

You are my God, the Way

c2021 Lisa Lyons

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