Our Things Sing of Some "Thing"

He is not a thing. but whatever

There is a thing
Or so I'll call it to be understood.
This thing, it brings,
Or is, the good.

It's not a thing
But things speak of it.
And, I think,
They partake in it.

For the things we see,
Their beauty radiates.
The moon, the trees,
The stars, they all say

"There is another.
Another far more wonderful.
Like us but larger.
Far greater and more beautiful."

The spheres and the globes,
The dirt and the leaves,
The falling of snow,
The growing of trees.

They call us to look
For a "thing" beyond things
For a "thing" to that's the good
For a "thing" that's not a thing.

The stars in the sky
Didn't make their own patterns
The rotations of the heavens
Don't follow their own order.