The Father’s Canvas

[119 words]

Morning arrives without a trumpet’s call,
Yet every sunrise preaches to us all.
The robin sings before the world awakes,
The dew still glistens on the quiet lakes.
The mountains stand as monuments of grace,
Each star a signature in boundless space.

The God who fashioned every leaf and flower
Still watches over us from hour to hour.
If He can clothe the fields with such delight
And paint the heavens every day and night,
Then surely He will guide my weary feet
And give me daily bread, both full and sweet.

Creation is no accident or chance;
It is the Maker’s joyful, endless glance.
Each breeze reminds my thankful heart to see
The Father’s love displayed so faithfully.