The King

The soft blush of evening

Returns to the folded hills

The sky rains magenta

In praise of the shepherd's skills

The lion lies down beside the lamb

At peace in the holy ground.

The King is returning

And those that were lost are found.

The old moon is resting

She sleeps in the new moon's arms

The love of a mother

Eclipsed by her daughter's charms

The robin bares his wounded breast

And sings with a joyful sound.

The glory of Heaven

Explodes in the rising sun

The long wait is over

The new reign just begun

The ransom of the holly bush

Was paid when the King was crowned.

A symphony of harmonies

In one triumphant sound.