the wooden flute

the wooden flute, like whispered mist,
calls from the depths of brokenness.
with plaintive cry it fills the dawn
as echoed tendrils dance with grace.

the tones evoke remembered joy
from simpler times of childhood days.
with lilting chant they trace the past,
knowing that memories of hope will last.

the wooden flute, like whispered mist,
enshrouds the hope now long deferred
with healing songs of tender joy
and sweet fulfillment of holy desires.

all of creation joins the song,
no longer mourning; no longer sad.
together, with the wooden flute,
we sing God's praises for all he's done.

29 November 2007 by Glen Alan Woods