The child wakes early, before
anyone else in the house.
Quietly she ventures out,
eager to explore this new
place and time, glad for gulls cries
across dawn’s colorful skies
where mystery hovers over
constantly moving ocean.
Her eyes glisten with God’s tears
rippling, washing shore and cheeks,
tears of unabashed joy for
sun’s radiance and wind’s vigor.
The girl’s arms, hands, eyes raise like
a toddler’s “pick-me-up” reach
in pure adoring trust. Yes!
She is eight or sixty-eight,
alive in sea breeze, walking,
dancing as Brother joins her,
forgetting for now oil spills,
climate extremes, wars, hate crimes.
Your Excellency! Cosmos Creator,
Celestial King: Babies sound Your praises;
children’s chanting shames Your foes to silence.
You adorn our lives with Glorious Purpose
to tend life on land, in air and water.
God, Your Majesty! Holy Creator!