I of Slightest Stature
I of slightest stature look at the highest air
and summon an eagle to fly me there.
To the sky we go up through a clouded shell,
soft as a feather and where the rains all dwell.
I dismount from my fine feathered friend
and mount a rain drop to ride until the end.
We drop down with my lawn in our vision,
falling with the rest in finely tuned precision.
We dance with the winds and swirl about
and fall, fall, fall, and twist and shout.
Before crashing to the earth we slow up a bit,
so when we touch down we make a softer hit.
So now the blades of grass are taller than me,
and I marvel at what a glorious sight to see.
I can see my lawn breathing through its lungs
as I climb up wisdom’s ladder of many rungs.
I can see the soul of nature and how she works,
her smooth sailings and where her danger lurks,
her battles with the demons that invade her world,
and the satanic wind and fires that swirl and swirl,
how the grace of God cradles her with love,
keeps her standing from his cognizance above,
and his convalescing after the demon tears her apart,
thanks be to God and his altruistic heart,
and the eternal network that keeps on churning,
the moving parts that never stop turning,
that breathe with lungs of determination and strength
as I look up at the grass and marvel at its length.
Upon my returning to my normal stature again,
I saw how nature and I survive by oxygen,
how good it feels, how it circulates in the soul,
and how her and I are from the same mold,
how wisdom is not just something taught in school,
but something that moves inside of us to rule,
thanks be to God and my glorious ascension
up to the highest mount to see his invention
and feel it working through my lawn and me.
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