Be Aware...the Sunday Whirl on Wednesday

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:)