Maker's Face Fair

Fields are ablaze with green grazing blades,

With flowers floating on land-sea's surface;

Whilst swarms of sheep frolic and feast on waves,

Each and all contenting Creator by fulfilling purpose.

Meanwhile squeezed cloud-clusters do drip wine,

Forming pools in pores of meek Mother Earth;

Whose lofty leaking hills nourish babes nine,

S'that as dancing drunkards, delight She who gave them birth.

All the while scarlet valley with voice sublime does sing:

"O Maker, my Maker, come create my face fair."

To which laudatious light'nings of kissing King

Swiftly and sweetly reply, as stroking Queen's stawb'ry hair.

23/02/2015