There's this "thing";
This early morning before the rush thing;
A when the sun rises above the false horizon of the tree-line along the creek thing.
The yellow light of a fresh-risen sun,
Selectively graces the tender new leaves of a compass-plant -
Transfiguring glorification from ephemeral light.
I want to glow like that;
But it is no longer morning,
And I worry that my leaves,
Are too old, too hardened, and too thick,
To ever glow like that.
And, what if Lord,
What if the light has passed me by Lord, while I was too busy?
What if I have glowed once, but was tragically unaware?
(photography by tiwago)