Poems By Stephen F. Dennstedt - 1976

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It's so quiet and very dark;
the dawn as yet unborn.

Through the darkness, I hear a lark;
his call is so forlorn.


The clear, cool, mountain waters cascade merrily over the precipice, floating down in crystalline droplets of moisture. The Sun's golden warmth reflecting as if a jewel.

Each individual sphere impacting on the rocks below, and shattering into a myriad of like sphere's, then re-joining.

The droplets transform into a gentle, gliding stream, meandering through the lush, green glade, spreading its vital moisture unselfishly.

Butterflies skip, and puddle jump, frolicking in the Sun's warmth and loving caress.

Nature is alive, and at peace with its self.


A bird cries in the nite,
breaking the long silence;

and awakening the forest,
to view the Sun's first lite.


The mountain top so high,
is reaching for the Sun.

While piercing clouds which dot the sky;
we'll climb this peak, my Son.

The tallest peak, in all the West;
a struggle it will be.

On that day, we're natures guest;
we'll reach the top, you'll see.

We'll do it both together,
we'll make that climb on high.

Through rain, and nasty weather;
to touch the frosty sky.

And at the top, we'll stop and talk;
and look, at the world below.

Then we'll start our downward walk;
we'll take it nice and slow.


Moon Beams,
Moon Beams,
You pierce the nite,
And Winters frosty shroud.
Casting shadows upon the snow.

But all is quiet,
The silence, deafening.

Not a breeze be felt,
Nor even whisper heard.
And the Heavens blink,
With silver stars,
Which rest on distant peak.

A Winters nite,
A frozen moment,
A frozen time.
Earth stands still,
Alone and shivering,
And waits . . .

Waits for the Dawning.

Moon Beams,
Moon Beams,
Upon the satin snow.
How beautiful you are,
How perfect.