An empty field - the joy,
To walk unhurried by,
The pretty little buttercups,
The small scatters of dye.

So much soup- two times no less,
It's salty blend of homely runs along the tongue,
And with a crispy bit of toast - the loaf,
Makes friends with every crunch.

Winter's maw lies unhinged in open air,
Teetering on the edge of snow,
But holding off another day,
If time held fast it'd make it slow,
If seconds passed it'd make them linger.
For liquid frost falls from cruel Winter's fangs,
They seize the earth and drag it down to deepest stillness.

Praise be to God the highest,
Great Creator,
Maker of this space and time,
Mover of the tiny mountains,
Which stoke the deepest feels sublime,
Dancer and great choreographer,
Weaving walks with crawls and rhymes,
Speaker of great truth and matters,
So greatly that His Word's alive,
Wonder, wonder, filled with laughter,
Sit alone in times of quiet,
Gaze upon the author's work,
Take the time to praise and chime:

Wonder, wonder, filled with laughter,
Praise the one who came and died,
Wonder, wonder, filled with laughter,
Fill the earth with weighty cries,
Wonder, wonder, filled with laughter,
Praise the one who lives and shines.