A forest of frogs, singing softly in the night,
The sounds of the creek water running by
The leaves sway gently in the moonlight
And they rustle to a song we cannot sing
And can but vaguely understand
Though we long to sing it, too.
A long way off, a dog barks.
Further off, the sounds of the highway,
The cars going by,
The woodland rhythm gets in your blood.
You begin to thrum with it,
To be a part of it unknowingly.
It calls you to your rest.
It beckons you to lie quietly and think its thoughts.
You breathe the smells of the leaves and earth,
And the moist winds of a cloud that rolls
Past the moon, lit with silver.
The moon reflects the sun's light,
And I reflect my Creator.