J
jkalyna
Guest
I heard a morning dove, calling to his mate, early in the dawn; and when the day was late. I heard a charcoal bird, with flaming breast of red, telling me in April that winter long is dead. I heard a whippoorwill sing at eventide, when the moonlight flow was spreading wide. I heard a nightingale sing at night from an orchard tree, with blossoms white. I heard so much more than all of these, I heard the voice of God singing from the trees. Lucille Crumley
