For a Lover of Nature

Your Valley trails its beauty through your poems,
the kindly woods, the majestic river.
Earth is your god-or goddess, you declare,
mindful of what good time must one day give her
of all you have. Water and rocks and trees
hold primal words born out of genesis.

But love is older than these.

You lay your hands upon the permanence
of green-embroidered land and miss the truth
that you are trusting your immortal spirit
to earth's sad inexperience and youth.
Centuries made this soil; this rock was lifted
out of the aeons; time could never trace
a path to water's birth or air's inception,
and so, you say, these be your godly grace.
Earth was swept into being with the light-
dear earth, you argue, who will soon be winning
your flesh and bones by a most ancient right.

But Love hath no beginning.

Copyright permission to publish has been given by the
Carmel of the Mother of God, Pewaukee Wisconsin. All rights reserved.

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