The crisp air swirls beneath the leaves, dew-kissed with drops before the sun.
With brilliant light, and colors bleed,
The soul of time and space she heeds,
Upon the briskness of the air, with breath and delicate steps she dare,
Crisp and curling stalks blow hither,
With thoughts, and spite, of coming winter.
Beneath the majestic oak,
in morning, grazes;
The graceful doe, God’s creature, praises.
“Let everything that has breath praise the Lord! Praise the Lord!”
Psalms 150:6 ESV