He sends the birds <br />To wake me each day. <br />Somewhere from a tree <br />Or a fence across the street <br />Though they sing so sweet <br />I know not what they say. <br /> <br />He sends the rain <br />To readjust the earths fluids. <br />And without a word <br />I automatically become leveled <br />As my senses get involved <br />And my body adjusts to it. <br /> <br />There are thunderstorms <br />To change the stubborness of my will. <br />Nature and I are humbled <br />By thoughts of remorse <br />For unto the Master <br />Our spirits do yeild.<br /><br />Cecelia Weir<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-yeilding/
