Wayne Orr

In morning’s hush, where sunlight spills,
He walks the edges of your breath—
Each heartbeat hums a hymn He wills,
A quiet grace that conquers death.

When chores weigh light as scattered dust,
And laughter threads through cups of tea,
His fingerprints adorn your trust,
A love that bends to touch the flea.

The bread you break, the door held wide,
The tear you wipe, the seed you sow—
He kneels, a gardener at your side,
Where every shadow learns to glow.

No step too small, no sigh unseen,
He maps the stars beneath your feet.
The thread that stitches lone to keen?
His hands, still scarred, yours to meet.

So when the world feels frayed, undone,
Remember how the lilies stand—
Not one falls without the Son,
Who holds the sea, yet cups your hand.