Forest Mist Poem by Rebecca Navarre

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.