Sunrise Near Talkeetna, Alaska
This morning On the way to sunrise, I met a soft, gray mouse. “Good morning,” I said. He said nothing, Being busy, As field mice often are, Merely nodding his head To acknowledge my presence, Then going about his business.
“How rude,” I thought; But then, thought again, “How often we treat Christ the same.” “Good morning,” He says. But we say nothing, Being busy. We merely nod our heads To acknowledge His presence, Then go on about our business, However insignificant.