by Larry Behr
Praise to You, O Mighty God Who Makes
the tiny, frozen tree-tip buds burst forth-
eternal troves of quintessential Life-
in spurting, fragrant sweet-green sprays and sprigs
of Joy extracted from the inert Earth!
Praise to You, O Mighty God Whose Power-
occult, unseen by vile souls unclean-
invades each molecule of soil, air
and water, commanding icy death
to yield, give way to nascent Life, and flower!
Praise to You, O Mighty God Whose Art
instructs the sweetest little birdlings in
their songs, and teaches too the humble worms
how they churn best Earth's warm, inviting breast,
that suckles now another round of Birth!
Praise to You, O Mighty God Whose Love-
reviled, disregarded, spat upon
and curst-relentlessly, unflinchingly,
unthinkingly returns, again and yet
again, against all hope insists we are all Yours!
