Ever in His careful hands we turn,
Where strength meets failing clay,
Slowly every flop He firms,
Restores a charmed asymmetry,
And so redeeming unique saints,
From every walk and tumbled crawl,
All handles, mouths and licks of paint,
He draws out storied gold from dust,
He fashions for Himself an earthly seat,
To pour on out the hope of His great feat.

Met a question in the heavy air,
Glanced upon the clock - there's give for time,
"Would you care to answer to my mental court,
To make your case upon my mind?"
Then melding molding merging into space,
All tangled up in air it seemn't care,
"Oh quick and simple! come be clear,
I'll tug you loose but never tear!"
And tugged it was till in straight lines,
A jolly fellow sound as beams of wood,
"Good gentleman, I see your riddle,
Clear as courts have shown what could."

Loudest shirt,
Drowns out the cannon balls,
And flying water sprawled about,
And all the laughter and stern sights,
That lock on flying yellow spheres,
Dived under by a shirtless bunch,
That smile and hit wild crashing blows,
On yellow balls that bounce above,
And eclipse the sun...
Yet even still the talking's drowned,
Yet even still the great joyful cheers,
And dancing fall so quiet from: the loudest shirt.