Beware; lest we
no longer see
The wealth that spills from filaments
Not made with hands; the sea, the lands
The air and its
rare firmaments
God does not charge
the world at large
For every gift that he imbues
Of rain-drop pearl,
and ice-art swirl
Of linen-cloud
strewn avenues
But He requires that we desire
To care for His created things
For to disdain earth’s glorious plain
Is to disdain His offerings
And if within our bone-cell-skin
We do not sense this divine grace
Then, when He knocks, will the cold rocks
Call out to His
tender embrace?
The sticky mess
of selfishness
Confuses and deceives because
We do not see with clarity
The sacred charge He gave to us
© Janet Martin
I found the word 'sticky' to be a bit of a stickler:)
a great use of the words! You'd never be able to tell you found sticky a stickler!
ReplyDelete