Psalm - one walking through Queensland plains

 (on an overcast winter afternoon, with a warm sun poking through at times)

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The grasses bow and bend their heads before

the wind that comes as it sees fit to do.

They dance upon these Queensland plains and more -

these wattles, brigalow, and gum do too.

Would they under this spirit-wind’s caress 

go dancing, sighing, shimmering and more,

& I just walk aloof, as though un-blessed

(even She-oaks shussle with their score)

Why when it comes again , this cool sweet breeze,

I’ll join with all the rest of nature's hoard

and add the sounds i can to jumping knees

to honor all the good of our sweet Lord!

Creative love, itself a god of kinds,

but unlike all the pantheon of Greece,

more like the one Yeshua says he finds

to be a father who is very pleased

(not with rapacious ruin of the world,

but) when “his” kid looks up, humbles themself,

returns to join in with that flag unfurled

creative love, for goodness’ sake brings health,

and speaks the truth, with stories as he passed

of grasses, & the birds, and thistles too,

of donkies or of oxen fed at last,

of cows that fall into a hole & moo.

Would I, unlike creative love itself,

prefer to speak of more “religious” stuff?

“No Sir!”, I answer, for I find my wealth

in world, & folk around about enough.

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