The horizon stretches forever east, then west,
Had I but eyes to see their encircling,
I could see they totally surround me,
Of sunrises, Abba, this might be Your best.
Clouds catch fire and erupt in Your glow,
As the orange morphs peach and dancing hues,
Seagulls take flight, to squawk and dive,
The world is called forth from slumber to grow.
Except for one seagull who never leaves the sand,
Though I approach it doesn’t fly away,
Close enough I see the tangled fishing line,
This sunrise reveals this gull needs a human hand.
With tenderness I reach and draw it near,
It’s heart beat so rapid it’s death I fear,
Fingertips cut line rapidly but firm,
Holding my breath the wing being freed brought tears.
Gently, slowly I return it to the wet, chilly sand,
It’s one eye watching my steady escape,
A wave washes in the seagull dips in its beak,
Then its scooped along by God’s own hand.
Now every morning as the sun does rise,
I’ll say a prayer for “my wounded bird”,
That God lengthened it’s days and nights,
Increased its knowledge of damaging devise.
How God must lovingly do the same for me,
In the midst of beauty all around take count,
See me the struggling, ensnared little sheep,
And return to lend a strengthening hand to me.
So should we view our fellow man,
Struggling beyond what our hearts understand,
Pray and hear God’s assignment for you,
Carry through and do the best you can.
For we all need help from time to time,
When entangled in the messy lines of life,
We must trust the least likely can be the Master’s hand,
Reaching out to free us from Satan’s ensnaring line.
Very nice Donna. You are a poet!!
Thanks June. Glad you think so.