Whisper of Whimsy on the Wind (16-8-98)
Shoulder high, swaying free
The fields, the crops, the winds and me,
The life Spirit within
Dancing like the thistle-heads around
But carried by joy, not whim
Like the myriad fluffballs, my swaying surround.
And yet, see, whim has beauty
And beauty’s dance partner is high purity
Test my heart, O Lord,
Let me dance upon my tested whims
With you always adored
Glorified in my moving limbs.
To the wind the thistle heads are carefree slaves
Caught like driftwood upon the waves
They have none to condemn
Like the heart of Him who never sinned
I wish my life to be like them
A whisper of whimsy on the wind.
(c) Nathanael Lewis 1998