But I will tend you: a poem of thanksgiving

by Stacey Zisook Robinson

In the beginning -
when there was mostly just dark, and light
and a little bit of chaos to sweeten the pot,
God nodded in approval.
"This is good, but not enough."
So then there was water, and heaven and earth.
There was an above, and a below,
and a somewhere in between,
where God's breath hung,
water to the fertile ground.

To the earth, I say thank you
for the abundance of your gifts.
There is grace in the wheat that dances, and bounty.
I cannot own you, but I will tend you.

To the heavens I say thank you for your glory.
There is such wonder
in the play of stars and light.
For you, I reach; in you I find.
I cannot own you, but I will tend you.

To the water I say thank you
for your lithesome, liquid beauty.
There is power in your ceaseless surge and release.
I cannot own you, but I will tend you.

To God I say thank you for bringing us here
to this season of joy.
We cannot own Your bounty,
but we must tend it all with care,
so that we may come again
to this season of joy.