Gentle Breeze Poem by Jonathan H. Scott

I heard you call my name last night
As I passed through the trees.
You think you cannot hear me, but
I am the rustling leaves.

The babbling brook in summer, oh,
How cool and clear it flows.
You think you cannot smell me, but
I am the blooming rose.

The twinkling stars up in the sky
Will never be outdone.
You think you cannot see me, but
I am the setting sun.

I am thy father's spirit, and
I'm always here with you.
You think you cannot feel me, but
I am the morning dew.