Shrill robin chirps, calling, searching,

Listening for life, under but near.

Chimes of the morning hour

Piercing dark stillness,

But whispers of voices are heard.

Stretch and shuffle, across the room

A whisper, a sigh, a quiet word.

Just me, alone, but so much more

I think, I ponder and muse

Sounds as memories I store

Will I hear what I listen for?

Pouring in hot or cold, my cup,

I start, I stretch, I think and groan

I wonder, I wander, I roam

Far yet always close to home

Calls coming in the quiet, I listen

Words come slowly, sometimes abound,

Other times, just not to be found

To read, to see, to feel, to hear,

Spins on life, whispers and tears

Listening closely… the hint of call?

In the hush, in the quiet

Through the noise of life’s patter

Can I hear at all ?

In the simple, in the norm

Mattering not spring nor fall

His voice, always there, quiet and strong

And if I listen, I hear His call.

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