Creation Poem by Sara Dickson

Creation is a peculiar thing
For it gives to every spirit life
Only to usurp it later on
Crushing it under death's cruel palm.
Yet, simultaneously, it can be a magnificent thing, if not for
The deer that lay among the verdant blades of grass
Or the fish that wanders lazily among the seaweed forest
As the water rises in cyclopean waves on the surface
Or the pastel butterfly, who floats among the frisky gale on gossamer wings,
Like the savory scent of oranges that wafts upward in the spring
In the meadow where the gentle rabbit lays his head to sleep
And where the gnarled tree sways and dances with the wind
Like two lovers in nature's ballroom.
Surely, life is more opulent
Than the certainty of demise
Though even in the afterworld
Life lives passionately on
For eternity.