Poem: The Lightworker’s Gift to Mother Nature

In dawn’s first hush, where gold meets green,
A lightworker kneels, serene, unseen.
Hands cupped full of radiant prayer,
She offers her heart to the breath of air.

No temple walls, no gilded throne—
Her altar is the Earth alone.
Roots and rivers, stars and stone,
Each pulse a whisper: You are home.

She hums a song the trees recall,
A tone that rises, soft yet tall,
Weaving through leaves, through fur and fin,
A melody of light within.

Her gift is not of jewel or flame,
But love that knows no face, no name—
A healing pulse, a tender spark,
That guides lost hearts out of the dark.

And Mother Nature, vast and wise,
Answers softly through the skies:
“My child of light, your gentle art
Reweaves the fabric of my heart.”

So still she stands, in peace’s hue,
A bridge of gold where spirit flew—
For every dawn she helps to birth
Is the lightworker’s gift to Earth.

Thank-you for reading.

Remember there are many paths back to God.

Follow your own path,

Brenda Marie