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A Psalm of Sorts

Poem

· poetry

All the mountains sing your praise

the trees dance in your wind spreading leaves and branches toward your sky;

the waters praise you,

they lap at the shore you set them to

they leap and rage upon boats and rocks

and yet, they still at your name.

Your beauty is set in all of creation,

the lines upon our skin, skin upon skin

your beauty cannot be concealed.

Your Spirit is weighty over all the Earth

filling the air

covering the deep

filling our hearts and the soil beneath;

the animals of the field, they drink you in.

The poet and the prophet you made,

the artist and the playwrite, the sculpture and the philosopher,

the musician and the gardeners all sing your praise.

Your beauty covers all the Earth,

even the mountains quake at your name;
we, we all sing your praise.

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