Who is this who paints the sky in such glorious colors,
While the world rushes frantically below oblivious to the beauty?
Who is this who takes such care with His brush strokes,
Creating a masterpiece that no one will appreciate?
And for whom does He create such beauty?
Oh, my child, my silly child,
Of course you know it’s I.
From the heights and mountain tops,
I call as they pass by.
They’re busy with important things
And don’t have time to see.
But yet for every time I call,
One more will turn to me.
But even if there’s not a one
who stops to heed my call;
Their eyes are closed,
and they can’t see the writing on the wall;
They’re working on their latest plan
to rule the world without me;
Even so, this work requires
the best that I can do.
For oh my child, my silly child,
I’m painting this for you.
Judy: Did you write this? It’s beautiful…and a friend and I were just admiring a similar sunset a few nights ago.
Lou: Both the poem and photo are beautiful. Thank you.
Allan: Hi Judy, yes – the words and reflections are mine. The picture is borrowed, but was the best I could do to pass on an awesome sunset that I saw last night.
Becky: Thank you for something worth reading. I mean that in the most complimentary way possible. It’s a breath of fresh air so to speak.
Lou: I hope it’s okay that I shared this.
Deryl: That’s a gorgeous scene Allan. Here’s another you might appreciate. It’s an early morning photo of Bondi Beach that an Australian friend of mine shared with me.