The pages of my book turn quickly as
The Wind blows gently across the water
It is almost as if God Himself has
A hand turning every page, as it were
Crisply they turn one by one or maybe
Startlingly, in bunches of three or four
According to God’s curiosity
He pauses… then rapidly turns for more
The wind, His hand, embracing every page
With my curiosity I wonder
As I sit, confined to my worldly cage
Could these pages take me far above or under?
Fragile pages turned by God’s creation
Call to me and my imagination