Forest Mist

I am not invisible, flowers wither, die, and crinkle. Who am I. As I watch time fly by in a rush. And sometimes all I can do is, stand back and blush. I can cry quite simple. And I can find a smile in waters that ripple. So serene, like in a dream. As I sit by the forest stream.. And drift with the clouds I'm counting.. Or like someone tossing into a cascading fountain, their wish. On a dime, on a nickle, hit or miss.. In heart, their hope stays with. No one can predict. Just believe our prayers he does lift. And through the fields of wheat he walked, at times like this. Hands out with his thoughts and soul, to his father, our Lord, to sift. There is beauty in the mist. And each day, each mornings light, is a gift.