Shoal River Morning Poem by Steve Howard

New wind weaves the willow wood,
the sleeping vines entwined,
stirring deep damp forest thoughts,
in natures timeless mind.
New rubies are the grass bourn dews,
the river dons her morning hues,
as she, without a backward glance,
runs on in winding happenstance.
The silvered mist, still caresses, clings,
to sleepy moss grown shadowed things,
and looks askance, at the advance,
of sparkling sunlight's water dance.
The night, reluctant turns away,
to hide her face from newborn day.
To bide her time with practiced art,
until time once more to play her part.
God smiles. Shoal river morning.