Written by Adam M. Snow
Be still now and hear,
the rustling of the wild wind;
out of yonder and near,
through the river bend.
Entice the sounds, that of Spring;
a song that does not end
and that which joy does bring,
in hopes for a better mend.
A Springtime Melody Written by Adam M. Snow Be still now and hear, the rustling of the wild wind; out of yonder and near, through the river bend. Entice the sounds, that of Spring; a song that does not end and that which joy does bring, in hopes for a better mend. A.M. Snow © 2018 all rights reserve
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Take Flight, Dear Crow of Mine Written by Adam M. Snow Take flight, take flight dear crow of mine. Why perch you calmly on a pine? The world we live in great design, see yourself in what life entwined. Spread your wings in the divine; take flight, take flight, dear crow of mine. All is well and all is fine, see how the sun to west incline, let your feathers' flutter shine. lift your voice, my nightly sign. With you do I myself entwine; go forth, take flight, dear crow of mine. A.M. Snow © 2016 all rights reserved Sing for Me Written by Adam M. Snow Sing, sing, sing for me, Oh, you little bird. Let your tune embrace me, Let o sweet song be heard. Play your song from morning break; Let it be ecstasy to hear. The reason that I wake, To know that you are near. Sing, sing, sing for me, Let your song be my prison bars, Where as your captive, I am set free; Set abound my morning star. Liveliness, your song I see, Entwined with the wind. Grace me with your melody, Never let it end. A.M. Snow © 2016 all rights reserved The Music in the Wind Written by Adam M. Snow O you sweet ol sound that grasp the wind, you hold so tight to sway again - through the branches springtide leaves, such a tune these wind they weaves. O that sweet ol song I heard before; those magic notes, amusing score. Like a moth's once soon cocoon, your sweet ol song shall bring a new. The songs that birds in morning sing, those chapel bells whom we praise to ring. Among the wind, they play so free - O sweet ol sound, play again for me. Let me hear o rustling branches, a sound of an octave cord - that of which o nature brings me, the songs of which the tune - delights me. The joy your tune in which it brings, upon the wind - upon pigeons wings. Songs of which entwined with man, like that of many passing cars, or the coming train to name of some; a flowing rhythm - their own drum. O this day your finest song, I can hear it all day long. To hear thee, o city music, a concerto to befit, - entwined with the sound of nature - entwined with the earth for sure. Your tune so great it can be seen, through the branches, leaves of green. Such an awe we shall not waste, the joyance of sweet nature's fate. A.M. Snow © 2012 all rights reserved Little Child Written by Adam M. Snow Little child, weary wanderer, leaving home to go forth yonder. Sat alone beneath oak tree, to sleep away his misery. A mile from his cottage home, this little child left to roam, in the woods so dark and damp; this little child would make his camp. While asleep, he heard asunder; flash of lights -- arose of thunder. Upon his face a dreadful frown, pouring rain now crashing down. He watched a tragic play unfold, that left this child in the cold. The tent he pitched -- swept away, by the shifting mud and clay. Now the child dripping wet, sat alone the night and wept. A.M. Snow © 2012 all rights reserved Let it be, O Sun Written by Adam M. Snow Over the hills, I wait for thee; the sunlight beam of dusk. Yet a silent to provoke me, yonder with the morning musk. Yet profound by a morning sound; the wind-chimed birds. A beauty to be found, within nature's morning words. With the aura of a newborn day; an outstretched colors, vibrant hues, painted like the month of May. I wait for thee, O sun; light my day. Let flowers blossom, with fragrance great; with beauty so awe it beckons my fate. Well beckons to me, the soon setting sun- denoted the start of night marks the end of day. Showering me with beauty outdone, like the birth of May. With the grace of God, does your beauty shine. A proof of my existence, a fairy tale dream- to taste life ajar, a nectar of wine and sample the melody of the sunlight’s gleam. A.M. Snow © 2012 all rights reserved O Glorious Storm Written by Adam M. Snow The night is dark, from my perch I watch, crashes of lightning, the heavens raging war. The crackling thunder, sounds of cannon fire; a noise heard all around. The wind is screaming, roaring; the rain, pounding at my feet. Still, I sat adrift in thought, cloaked in a robe of rain. Droplets of water upon my brow, the moist scent air, I breathe. Still I sat, awestruck found, praising this glorious storm. Still I wonder, this raging war; crashes of lightning, with crackling thunder, cannon fire. Which side is winning? A.M. Snow © 2012 all rights reserved Little Bird Written by Adam M. Snow Does the little bird not know sorrow? It drifts alone in the open air, untouched by either blue of the ocean or the sky above; untouched by the bloodshed stains of the earth below. Does the little bird not know sorrow? Like the tears of unborn children, dead before birth with their question burning forever, "Why?" Does the little bird not know sorrow? Perched on a tree, watching man fall before its eyes. Is there no compassion from that little bird towards humanity? Does the little bird not feel sorrow? Like the tears of millions of hungry children, cold without a home. Their voice muted, by the wars of greed; their deaths in vain, blood on our hands. Does the little bird not know sorrow, like we do? Unable to fly so freely like the bird, lost in our own way of life; the endless greed, the pointless bloodshed, millions of lies. Does the little bird not know sorrow? Always flying so freely, freedom on its wings; untouched by either blue of the ocean or the sky above; untouched by the bloodshed stains of the earth below. Does it feel sorrow? That little bird, who greets the morning with a song; always cheerful, always chirping. What does the little bird feel? Is it sorrow? A.M. Snow © 2012 all rights reserved Come again, you little Nature's Kin Written by Adam M. Snow Sinful and violet beneath the trees, roses blooming upon the Spring. They know the truth that lies the bees, oh little ones who buzz and sing. Why are you gone? Why are you gone? Your buzzing decrease upon my lawn. Are you fleeing, leaving my garden? Upon my roses still sweet nectar, for you to take if I must pardon the intrusion little collector. Come again, come again - you little Nature's kin Take upon you my sweet nectar, there are many and there are many. Take all you want, little collector, there are many beyond plenty. Take all you want little bee, little bee - to your hive upon my tree. A.M. Snow © 2012 all rights reserved When the Tree again is blowing Written by Adam M. Snow When the tree again is blowing, the sky itself is flowing. When the leaves are rustling 'gainst the wind, the world itself comprehends - the beauty which spawns from nature's womb; the haunting beauty, the rose bud blooms. The joy and treasures, only a child knows - the true beauty of a blood red rose. Life's full mystery, still we don't know - just how far this beauty will go. Ends of the Earth perhaps and forevermore; to the sunset, setting on the open shore. A.M. Snow © 2012 all rights reserved |
"Too much knowledge will lead a man to believe he's God." AuthorA.M. Snow is a poet, photographer and in his own way, a philosopher and he is a strong devoted dedicated follower of Jesus Christ. POETRY
A collection of Adam M. Snow's poetry.
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