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God's finger

The complex yield of summer days,

The sun's soft rays that turn to hail,

The tender shoots down lover's lane,

The flowers we pick that come again.


The dappled sunshine through the trees,

The storm clouds building in the east,

The birds fly low they sense the change,

As thunder rolls and rainbows wait.


The sky turns dark the storm is near,

The rabbits run, the sheep, the deer,

The wind blows wild, the sun turns pale,

Big summer blobs here comes the rain.


Lightning strikes the old church tower,

God's finger saying 'I am the power,'

How clear the air, how green the grass,

The flowers stand up the storm has passed.

© Joseph G Dawson