These words, with wonder, make me seem to fly
While gravity, an anchor, stays my frame
And thoughtfully I gaze up at the sky
As I with bliss enjoy each word and name
That mark each page, creating melody—
No tune they make, but music nonetheless.
I see my Father’s creativity
In how, with gifts of words, He would us bless.
My Father’s like a poet, making poems
That one can read by seeing with their eyes—
The lofty mountains, and the crashing seas;
The myriads of stars that fill the skies.
LORD, as I revel in this poetry,
I pray that YOU, the Author, I would see.