On Monday Mornings we would rise,
To amber meadows, azure skies,
And hear the still, small voice inside
So silent is the dawn.
*
With work no farther than our door,
Asking little, receiving more,
Not knowing whether rich or poor -
Content with what we have.
*
We'd live God's time - by sun and moon,
All else is later, now, or soon.
No ticking clocks say "nine" or "noon" -
No measured time of day.
*
By evening, filtered golden rays
O f sunlight slant through radiant haze
While house lights twinkle as twilight fades-
God grant us simpler times.
*
To my parents, and grandparents who practiced this poem.