O Nature Divine

O Nature,
O Garden,
O untended to wild petals and plants.

How divine is it
That such beauty can arise out soil and scat,
Without the use of man, nor his craft?

O divine nature,
O wondrous garden,
O petals,
At the forest’s edge
You are the pillows and the bedding
Where all who seek refuge
From the abounding thicket and thorn
Shall surely find it.

O my relief
O my refuge

How is it that you were built
By winds travelling
Over a medium of chance?
Unguided by principle nor will
Yet containing vastness still.