AN OPEN HAND
AN OPEN HAND
A simple tune
Is playing now—
Very light
And very sweet.
The meadowlark
Is full with his song
Of life and love,
And a fragrant breeze
Dances through
The leaves
And the grasses
Of the field.
They too whisper
The song and the prayer
That play any day
In the minds and hearts
Of the men and women
Who seek to walk
The flowered path.
Now a butterfly lands
On an outstretched,
Open hand.
And as long
As the clutching fist
Waits its turn
The creature stays
And gives away
The magical gift
Of its presence.
So give me this
This Presence,
And the gift
Of a hand willing to open
And a fist willing
To wait its turn.
