Image: Garden of the Gods
Colorado Singing to the Divine
I
Ink flows like a river in the moonlight,
spilling psalms on fragile pages.
My heart hums, a meadowlark at dawn,
lifting hymns to Thee, O Eternal Light!
Snow the pines, a cathedral’s powdered veil,
beyond my frosted window pane.
Colorado’s peaks rise in silent glory
their granite faces sculpted by Thy luminous power.
Thou, O Divine Poet, feed my soul the notes
that spark from Thy peerless flame.
I write from mountain cradle inspiration,
as from Thy breath flows the wind’s low chant.
My songs, humble offerings, rise to Thee,
a tapestry of praise woven in snow.
II
Thy presence hums in the cottonwood’s quiver,
fleecy clouds filling the morning’s glow.
Words spring forth, wild as spring’s melting ice,
conveying Thy love as my pen dances across the page.
I shut my eyes—Thou art the ember
warming the cabin’s shadowed walls.
And still the mountains stand as Thy sentinels,
their ridges etched with ancient prayers.
My voice, a sparrow’s delicate call,
sings for Thee in this high, holy air.
Each note, a flower laid at Thine altar,
rife with the colors of dawn’s first blush.
O Belovèd Creator, Thou art near in every note’s echo,
and I will sing Thy name throughout all eternity.
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