The Creator Poem by Ell Ell

You; Old Father, pride of heart;
who brought your tears and filled the oceans
while the sun beat down like a golden jewel;
and with your blood, you shed the rose
onto the lonely fields;
while the bluebirds sang in a symphony of
your creation.
How did it feel, Old Father, when the floods swept
and washed away the crops?
Or when the storms thundered and moulded the trees?
Did you cry when the winds shrieked and stole the rose?
Or did you sigh while the bluebirds silenced to the
winter's snow?

Old Father, pride of heart;
man of earth and creation
who spoke the winds and wept the rain;
will you take this broken world and make it whole?
The day has faded; the moon glimmers;
and we, the children, pray
in the symphony of your creation.