It Is Now (Quaker Prose)

It is the dying time of the year
The fingers of the grey trees point out entreating,
Come down, come down, you slow leaves to feed us,
We'll store the fruits and dust till Spring.
I am alive today feeling my heart beating:
It is now, it is now.
The Sun brings God into my soul:
Warm arms, warm arms around my body;
My joy in today encompasses
The dying season
And God's everlasting love every moment:
It is now, it is now.

Louise D. Harris


Reprinted with permission
Friends Journal
December, 2009
www.Friends Journal.com