Of The Father

by W. Robert Boyd

What serenity in tiny baby breaths,
like the rhythm of a night breeze flowing
through dangling feathered branches of a willow.
God the Father’s breath on the waiting world.

Pure and unblemished, a soul clean and white,
almost seen through blue gray orbs delighting
in the new and cooing in marveled reverence,
tiny shocks of sensory overload.

Enormous wonder in tiny reaching hands
to coil and grasp for a touch of the awing
splendors of rainbow hues and flashing light.
A chortle and whisper to punctuate.

God shows us his glory and miracle
in chubby cherubic cheeks of gladness.
My love, like an apple, bright red and bursting
with sweetest nectar flowed out in tears of joy.

A droplet of water to surprise and shake,
conjure a furrow of crushing discord.
To steal the moment of our blissful calm
and replace it with sharpest shaking quakes.

Though the calm has been broken asunder
it can be brought back from the toppling brink
with a soft knowing agreeable nod,
and the caring caress of the father.

W. Robert Boyd is a disabled vet who has recently rediscovered the Lord. He is excited about the ways God has been affecting his family and himself, his relationships and his ability to write again. He is active in his church and the local Christian Writers Group.

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