As I sit beside my window at the computer, just buried deep in thought. Dream with me of days gone by. The beauty spreads before me, it brings the comfort I have sought.
The tree-tops are high and tall. The pines are in there darkest green. Drops of color throughout the land, like falling of a gentle rain on a meadow.
Oh, who can doubt that God above made this land a beauty for all the World to see. God himself does not speak prose. He wastes no precious word. His strength and power are in control, but all echoes come and go. In the stillness of the soul, he speaks in Poetry of Peace.