With beautiful eyes of snowy white,
And hands solid like rock and clay.
He began to create the deepest night,
And then came soon a beautiful day.
He waved his arms back and forth,
And out sprung stars big and small.
With hands slightly tilted towards the North,
He began to spin a gorgeous ball.
And in this sphere he placed some trees;
Some mountains and some oceans, too.
Some animals, and bumblebees,
And a breeze for both of me and you.
And then he held above the sphere,
A chest that was filled with treasures of bliss.
And then, as it opened, he strained to hear
Over the blaring sound of the treasure’s hiss.
Then he dropped them, one by one,
Making splashes and waves in the waters below.
There was hope, faith, laughter and peace.
And one that was rarer than riches or gold.
He reached down deep into the chest
To find the gift unlike the rest.
Then pulled from it a small, blue sack,
And tied it tight to a morning dove.
And then the bird circled around and back,
Dropping golden dust that was his love.
And then he sat, with pen in hand,
At a desk with a blank, empty page.
He began to write the story of man
And the dawn of the first, beautiful age.
And then, at last, when he was through,
He placed us all across the land.
For there was nothing he couldn’t do
With the gentle wave of his solid hands.
He blinked those snowy, bright white eyes,
And then he sat, so wise and clever.
Awaiting the time for us to rise
And bask in his love, forever and ever.