At Thy Command
The grain of wheat
dies
at Thy command
unconscious
of Your living
in its shell
turning it to life
giving bread
perpetuating it
ages
without end
nursing it with rain
and sunny smiles
from seed to stalk
a golden social plant
bowing its seeded
hairy head
in breezy dance
with poppy skirts
in red
illumed by a ruby
sunset veil
with robin breasts
singing gratitude
before the night
descends
its blinding veil
to equalizes colors'
vibrant hues
in noncompeting
shades
of resting black
switching lights
of distant
trembling lamps
luminous smile
of vagrant onion slice
to make of night
a little less
than death
before awaking
to splendor
rosy rays
sparkling diamonds
on grassy
finger hands
that mist to vanish
then return to play
hanging water lamps
on leaves and branches
that drip into the throat
of parched earth
to feed the roots
and soften seeds
to sprout
perennial cycle
feeding
and being fed
and all creation
obeying
seems content
except for man
to whom You gave will
to obey or to dissent
the pupil of Your eyes
You call friend
by interests
daily affairs
being led astray
the banquet ready
for repentant heir
all set with such glorious
royal splendor
no eyes have ever seen
nor ears have heard
the marvel of a joy
without compare
beyond the imagined
no pen can write
only faith can travel
Brian Strand: First place Trophy Winner- Your Choice Again-2/20/24
Brian Strand-You Say-Third Place Winner-3/14/23
First Place Winner: Brian Strand- All yours-1/17/21
Copyright © Frances Schiavina | Year Posted 2020
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