The sweet swan broods,
A silent, melody
Winking at the blue sky,
The brook is liturgical,
Ornithologist , sitting by
my side, marvels at the
covey of birds swoop down,
“with His two legs, ever watchful
eyes, a halo and whirling club,
why doesn’t God descend
to this earth?” maverick he is
he queries, with eyes wide open,
MY Miltonic mood of muse
Responds, this murky muddy
Sinful place is too much for Him,
for Him to wield all at one go,
for HIM to step on and stay,
Heaven is the place for HIM.
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