On my knees, I’m a frog, nestled between green leaves, wet with dew and raindrop.
It’s cool in the morning air, and eden’s breath is fresh on me;
I hear the rustling sound that tells me you are near.
Clasped hands and bowed head, I mutter words that only silence hears.
And you.
Sometimes, it seems eternity passes in-between my breathing in and out,
the rhythms of the ages are imitated in my art. On my knees,
the only place to be, I’m nestled in the wet green leaves in eden’s bowery mist.
No tell-tale time to stir me from my reverie, entranced;
And when the spirit-rush falls on my waiting soul, I raise webbed feet, like
a good frog should, two at a time; two at a time.
Ah, God! I feel the touch of smoky mist, light tendrils rising when your sun begins to warm,
and my green-leaved sanctuary sways a little in your wind,
to the left, to the right.
Quiet breaths, not mine, that swing my hammock to and fro,
the undulations of your wind a gentle lullaby
so fine that all of nature’s hushed to hear its pretty tune.
You bear me in the lightness of your song, like a mother with her child;
soft and quiet arms surround the weight of all I am,
securing me in a safe embrace. You rock me from the heights
of where I am, nestled in-between the wet green leaves,
telling me in many-coloured ways just how you hem me in,
and hold me in,
your love providing all the lines and places that my poor
webbed feet would ever fall upon, safe upon.
On my knees, I am ever the frog, small and green upon the green.
Hidden as I am within the wideness of your heart, I’m
nestled in eden’s bower, ever clasping hands, half-entranced, O God,
ever bowing to the lulling of your wind.
22.05.2011
