In the quiet hush of morning light,
When dawn breaks free from the grasp of night,
I bow my head, a humble plea,
To thank the Lord for His gifts to me.
In the tapestry of the sky so vast,
I see His artistry unsurpassed,
A canvas painted with hues divine,
A masterpiece woven in every line.
The sun ascends with a golden kiss,
A radiant warmth, a gentle bliss,
A daily reminder of grace untold,
A symphony of colors, a sight to behold.
The trees sway in a harmonious dance,
Their leaves whispering a song of chance,
Life's melody, a gift from above,
A melody filled with boundless love.
The rivers flow with a rhythmic grace,
A liquid hymn, a sacred space,
Quenching the earth with a tender touch,
A symbol of His mercy, oh, so much.
The air I breathe, a subtle sigh,
A gift of life, a lullaby,
In every breath, His presence near,
A testament to His love sincere.
For friendships forged and bonds that grow,
For seeds of kindness we often sow,
For laughter shared and tears wiped away,
I thank the Lord each passing day.
In moments of joy and trials faced,
In every step, by His grace embraced,
For lessons learned, for paths unknown,
I thank the Lord, for He's ever shown.
So, let my heart be a vessel of praise,
In gratitude, my voice will raise,
For God's gifts, both big and small,
I am thankful, blessed by His call.
About the Creator
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More stories from Gurcharan Singh and writers in Poets and other communities.
Smile please.
In the heart of a bustling city, where the skyscrapers reached for the heavens and the streets echoed with the hurried footsteps of people lost in their own worlds, there lived a man named Richard. Richard was a diligent worker, a middle-aged soul who had surrendered his days and nights to the relentless demands of his job. His face, once filled with warmth and laughter, had now become a canvas painted with exhaustion and sorrow.
By Gurcharan Singh5 months ago in Humans
Can You Drive a Ford Fiesta Through a Desert?
I’m flying down the B1 highway from Windhoek to Keetmanshoop with a map and a boot full of camping gear. I’m excited for the first stop of my Namibian road trip: the Quiver Tree Forest. I spot the sign and turn onto the C17, off the tarmac and onto the gravel. I’ll be there soon; it’s only ten miles or so. I am unprepared for what comes next. The car slides and slips across the road. I am not fully in control anymore. I slow to a crawl. The car judders and shudders, the noise deafening, the vibrations rattling the teeth in my skull. It takes me around an hour to drive the ten miles. I arrive at the campsite relieved to be in one piece, even if it feels like all my bones have been shaken slightly out of place. I will later learn that this is what happens when the gravel road becomes “corrugated”, and that the roads authority goes round once a week to “grade” them. Seems I arrived about 6 days after the grader had last been round.
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Comments (1)
It's always important be take a moment to show gratitude. Loved your poem!