The word water is what we use
To name the muse of the Earth
That drew blood from stone
With the first kiss she planted
She filled this empty planet
With so much life and love
That now it must tread itself underfoot.
She runs away and returns eternally
In rivers and streams and storm clouds
And every raindrop she sends to inspire
The fruiting and flowering of life.
The muse makes way only for the mother
Above her, that shining perfection
whose radiant love knows no rival.
To her we owe our original energy
But she wants nothing back from us
And every day she makes way for the muse.
Out of the vast salty ocean
and many muddy puddles
The warm sun draws pure water
Into lofty incandescent clouds
To let loose bountiful blessings
To wet the parched tongues and throats
Of dusty leaves and thirsty roots.
The soil swells with this nectar
and spills over into rivers
That feed the broad ocean again
That big blue belly of the earth
Drunk like a babe at the breast
On the sweet milk of heaven.
The stars gaze with glittering eyes
Down upon the blessed child so small
And from their cold, dark distance
They all envy the sun’s fortune
To hold us so close in her orbit
That her motherly light shines
With warmth upon the round face
Of her beloved Earth, a sanctuary
Containing every specimen of every living thing.