a little book of prose-poetry ... 80

The thunderous roar

Of the falls

Is but a harbinger

Of what beholds

The tumultuous

Cascading of the

Onrushing flow.

Whence its origin?

Whence this

Rock-strewn canyon?

I can but marvel

At God’s wonders.

— Garry D. Kilbourn

a little book of prose-poetry ... 79

That I, dear God,

Might bask

In your creation,

The majesty

Of your loving hand

That so bespeaks

The wonder

Of my soul.

In humble reverence

I can but give thanks.

—- Garry D. Kilbourn

a little book of prose-poetry ... 78

In awe I stand within

This wondrous

Cathedral of the sky,

Eyes uplifted, seeing,

Though speechless;

Hearing words

Never to take form

Midst the immense grandeur

Of God’s own hand.

— Garry D. Kilbourn

a little book of prose-poetry ... 77

Yield to the allure

of God’s own hand,

To the majesty and

Mystery of nature.

Dare to tread

My carpeted floor

‘Neath the haunting

Stillness of my

Sunlit bower.

Give thanks 

For God’s presence,

For His humbling call.

With gladdened heart,

Give thanks to all.

— Garry D. Kilbourn