Consider now the lilies of the field
And then consider, too, the field itself,
The coarse high grasses wet with rain that catch
Against my calves as I pace the path to the pond.
Consider, too, the dark filled pond, the just passed rain,
The smooth-slipped rocks that line the muddy banks,
The slippery mud that sucks at toes
Of shiny frogs that jump and plop at my approach.
They neither reap nor sow, these lilies nor this field.
These frogs that hop at my approach, kings of this small pool,
They neither reap nor sow. The floating moon,
Only floating, shines up on me as light from some
Unseen deep new world. I must consider then the moon,
This same, riding gently on the ripples of the startled frogs
And glittering jewel-like on the rain stained grass.
I must consider then and hold this moon, this night, this field,
These lilies closed in prayer, these creatures deep.
I must consider what I did not sow and wonder if even Solomon
Could know what it is I reap from this array, what it is I reap
From this deep new world, this bright and shining deep new day.
