Whom must I give praise for these sights?
To whom shall I hail for all these delights?
For he has left great beauty
That crowds my senses and might.
If you were woman in disguise,
I might lay my head on your thigh.
But you are not bound, not held by a guise,
Nor at hand to bend to wills that are not nigh.
You are rough edges and fine dust,
Endless shapes that distract my eyes,
The endless scents my nose will trust,
And my ears and tongue dance to your wiles
But you are neither man nor feel like me,
You creep, you climb, grow and bear fruit.
You weather storms and manage yeast,
Then you wilt when you are at an end.
You take your time to leave us gay.
To be a home or a place near our homes.
You blind and act as our shade from lights.
You are the world – I greet your bliss.