We know not when the wind will blow,
Seeing only movement in the trees.
A strong wind can break off a bough,
A soft breeze simply rustles leaves.
We cannot glimpse a simple thought.
Actions yield what we can see.
Amazing things for us are wrought,
When thoughts become reality.
We cannot see whom we call God,
Yet know his wonder in countless ways.
In wind that blows over trees and sod,
And fleeting thoughts that fill our days.
Man takes the earth to buy and sell,
All worldly bounty, he has known.
Yet in the end he finds too well,
He has bartered what he does not own.
© John Greenwood 2007