Looking at Parables

by Barry York

Morning rays shine

_  With warming love;_

Swaying trees stretch

_  Toward heaven above._

Cheerful birds in chorus

_  Offer their praise._

Looking at parables

_  Each of my days._

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Black clouds come,

_  With wind's strong roar._

Dead limbs crash,

_  In union no more._

Little sparrow falls,

_  Wings no longer raise._

Looking at parables

_  Each of my days._

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Whether cloudless sky

_  Or drops of rain;_

Sown seed growing

_  Or bringing no gain;_

Be it gathering flock

_  Or owl's lone gaze._

He says that I am

Looking at parables

_  Each of my days._