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The Giant Spindle Turns ( a poem of inspiration)
As the giant spindle turns, spins in space,
And so burns, its light, on the celestial plain,
Brothers, sisters, all around, and to abound,
Each to be formed from a single grain.
The weaver spins his heavenly threads,
While his creations, he each so refines,
Reflected on the earthen sod, there,
In a crop circle's mysterious designs.
The creator of both genders, and as one,
Their most splendid benefactor,
The maker, an orchestrator, diamond jeweler,
He, as a sparkling gem refiner.
An earthly potter, a most brilliant sculptor,
And fine orchestration music composer.
Grand architect, is this earth's soul saver,
And our brightest spirit appropriator.
Forever increasing, never ceasing, fantastic,
Is this, our worldly universal spherical,
Its birth, an explosion, of all magnitude,
The loudest proportions, as that of a miracle.
Multifaceted, in composition, the heavenly wonder,
And of its most finite and benevolent calculations,
Beyond all comprehensions, our human cognitions,
To infinity, is that, in its broadest dimensions.
As a simple top spins, and a small child so grins,
The universe expands and so, to whirl about,
A starry night's visit up on the hill, to spy a comet,
Of its ever brightening thrill, we then give a shout.
Unlike the sharpest echoes, to resound in space,
The sounds of life, on earth, here are so embraced,
Our creator guards on celestial heights, keeps us safe,
While in the darkest nights; we are so graced.
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