Making Rounds

Making Rounds

In the cold and quiet dawn
And the earthen dapples of the fawn
Is the early morning songbird’s call
And the hidden breezes of the fall
Someone, somewhere, begins a song
That is heard, and loved, by someone small.

In the still and sullen noon
Sleep has come, none too soon
Among the busy evening sound
Resides the lesson I have found
You never have to wait too long
For peace to make its final round.

All the night is fast asleep
Within a slumber more than deep
Now the silence is broken by sound
A piercing song someone found
Someone small, and kind, and sweet
Someone who is mine to keep
As I make my final round.