Simple Things

Simple Things

Who walks the path beside the stream.

And hears the water whisper low.

Do they know what the shadows mean.

Or where the softest breezes go.

The morning light begins to break.

A golden glow across the hill.

How long before the seasons wake.

And fill the valley, soft and still.

A sparrow sings upon the branch.

Her feathers ruffled by the breeze.

Why does her song sound like a branch.

Of music drifting through the trees.

The river knows no time at all.

It simply flows from stone to stone.

Who hears the water when it falls.

And feels the beauty in its tone.

The afternoon grows warm and slow.

The cattle rest beneath the shade.

Where do the hours quietly go.

When light begins to softly fade.

The evening comes with violet skies.

A single star begins to gleam.

Why do we love the world so wise.

And yet forget it is a dream.

The moon climbs high above the trees.

And silver light falls on the grass.

Who hears the whisper of the breeze.

And watches painted clouds drift past.

The night grows deep, the world is still.

A fox moves softly through the dark.

Does any heart feel what I feel.

When beauty leaves a quiet mark.