At Thy Command

The grain of wheat dies at Thy command unconscious of Your being 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 dark night descends its blinding veil to equalize colors' vibrant hues in resting shades of noncompeting black switching lights of distant trembling lamps and luminous smile of vagrant crescent slice to make of night a little less than death before awakening 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 feeding roots and softening seeds to sprout returning life by feeding and being fed and all creation obeying seems content except for man to whom You gave free will to obey or to dissent the pupil of Your eyes You call friend by wordily affairs daily led astray the banquet ready for repentant heir all set with such glorious royal splendor no eyes have seen nor ears have ever heard the marvel of such joy beyond the veil with inner satisfaction of having chosen well of such Paradise no poet can write beyond the imagined only eyes with faith can travel