I sat upon the mossy cliff,
my thoughts adrift and body stiff,
I gazed upon strange and beautiful things:
A tiny flock of birds upon whimsical wings
With wings outstretched the avians flew
but feet from me as I withdrew.
Then, abruptly, from topmost location
they dove the cliff without hesitation
Down and down and down they went,
as if to earth they’d been hastily sent.
Yet before they struck the unyielding ground
they spread their wings with fearless sound
The mighty ocean and cliffside vent
Shot them up, and up they went!
With rush and speed and joy they flew—
back up to me; somehow they knew
Such strange creatures never asked why;
why did they do this, by an by?
Yet there they went again, again,
with joyous glee and playful zen
Their maker looked on, at jocund leisure
his playful children giving him pleasure.
Who, but Him, would make such odd things
as silly, sweet birds upon whimsical wings
