The celestial spheres silently roll,
The frozen sun sits, gazes, grows full;
Three-hundred plus suns, yet rising from one,
Round whom bodies must live, unless out-run.
One sun sets, rises, another awakes,
Obeys his father, his dear duty takes,
Daily toils in his terrestrial trade,
Humbly he lowers both body and spade.
Spuds, sprouts, carrots, corn and the waving wheat,
Rise from dusty dirt despite the sun’s heat;
Father, mother, son to earth’s goodness raise
Glasses with gladness, the Father they praise.
Brave liturgy! The silent soul’s routine,
Obeys the Son’s law, its praise it may preen;
Our weekly rotations, on bended knees,
Shall daily make our knees weak and minds freeze.
Written at the Desert Schooner,
Las Vegas, Nevada
November 9, 2015
Painting: “Wallasey Old Church and Manor House, Wirral, C. 1853”
By Harold Hopps,
Oil on board, n.d.