Creation Since The Fall Poem by james watkin

Of the master's upkeep loosed
The maker's hold, love-dense
Over what shakes, aches for it
Through that forsaken sense
Praise your ignorance, eavesdropped
Down on all creation.
That what through rainstorm, frog's joy
Is all you're let in on!

As grateful-hearted, man, still
A child, for that veiled state.
That your eyes, 'mongst wind-lashed tree's
Ripped shreddings' gory fate
As much as for skies, blood-red
Fill not up, sorrowed.
Which time of year, day, fair-crowned
Of judgement o'ershadowed!