The word water is what we use
To name the Muse of Earth
That drew blood from stone
With the first kiss she planted
And filled this empty planet
With so much fertile, flourishing life
That it gets crushed under its own weight.
She runs out 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 every original energy
But she takes nothing back from us
And humbly 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 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 dark, cold 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.