My Life In Word

Dew Drops and Sunshine

Before the morning finds its voice,
the meadow wears a crown of glass.
Each blade of grass lifts silver pearls,
small miracles that never last.

The dew arrives without a sound,
borrowed from the hush of night,
holding tiny worlds inside
until they meet the morning light.

Then sunshine spills across the hills,
a river poured from skies above.
It kisses every waiting drop
with quiet warmth and patient love.

The diamonds tremble, glow, and fade,
returning softly to the air,
teaching that the loveliest things
are often those we cannot keep or wear.

Still every dawn begins again—
fresh jewels stitched on leaf and vine,
a promise written by the earth
in dew drops and in sunshine.

So may my heart be like the field,
open to both loss and grace,
catching every drop of hope
before the day begins its race.

For even fleeting beauty leaves
a light that time cannot outshine;
the soul remembers morning's gift—
those humble dew drops,
that faithful sunshine.

Simona A. Brinson


Photo by Jonas Weckschmied on Unsplash 
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