Morning Photographer

While morning mist lies on the ground,
And beauty reigns through lack of sound,
A quiet step comes through the night,
Carefully through the mist of white.

A yawn escapes through tired lips,
Wishing-hoping his feet won't trip.
His hands instinctive, straighten hair,
While breathing in the fresh night air.

Walking on, through hill and vale,
To mountain top--as if to hail,
The sun in its celestial path,
Beating down with almighty wrath.

But no--he does not hail the sun,
Instead, he raises as if a gun,
A well-used camera to his eye,
To capture early morning sky.

Caught forever--the light of dawn,
For seconds later, it is gone.
The sun has risen, morn has left,
The magic moment left bereft.

Walking back to home sweet home,
Walking softly on tender loam,
Marveling at God's great creation,
Amazed at such imagination.