You have boundless
endowment of the Maker
to put into pitch
the voice of Nature:
a rushing cataract passing
with ease through groves and briers,
Spring chanting joy imperceptibly
moving through the pergola,
Murmuring air spurting into the space
resulting in through tendrils and shrubbery,
Fullness of descant singing
like the birds
to take the sting out of dullness.
What a Maker that is
Whose strength is beyond words
to articulate your immaculate beauty
That has given rise to you,
Whose beauty hums like the bees
at the corner of a plafond.
Copyright: Welkin Siskin
welkinsiskinwordpress.com 