Let Everything that Breathes
by Stephen Damon
Let Everything that Breathes
In the predawn darkness
He sees a subtle shape
Almost hidden beneath a tree
A redwood carving of St. Francis
Splintered, weathered gray
A crow upon his shoulder.
He listens to a mourning
Dove chanting an Oo-wah-hooo
Of an ancient solitude.
In the distance, a songbird
Calls to his brothers and sisters
Who soon will gather
In every feather of color
And every manner of song
For morning service.
Together, they will make
A joyful noise of praise
And jubilation.
Bows,
Stephen
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