This poem was written early this morning by my nine-year-old grandson Henry as a birthday gift for his father. Such a beautiful tune of love and hope.
While the hazy mist rises,
and the plants are green giants,
a rhythmless song floats down from the trees.
You can see no birds, but the music you can hear,
a tune that’s so big that the notes can’t be small,
A tune that weaves through motionless plants,
a song of the morning, the tune of the dawn.