Thunders above I start to sway skylike
Grass roll below I start to grow earthround
My soul to the earth, that outward expression
of God's mind portrayed in his holy possession
of every tree, of every rock, of every cloud
that roams our sky in lonely expulsion.
We are the fallen, the eaters of lies
and the foster-parents of fear.
Blessed are we to live even near
wide open fields, high open hills, and long open skies.
