The sunlight on the many trees
And dewdrops on the grass
Are greeted by the morning breeze,
Whose part it is to pass.

And mine’s to wander through these hills
As someone who belongs,
And, from each bough, there come the trills
Of birds’ enchanting songs.

And, through it all, a river runs
As clear as any brook,
Inviting me to join those ones
Who see as well as look.

In each and every single thing,
There’s joy which only love can bring.

Photo by Louise Pilgaard on Unsplash

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