At God’s Morning Cup of Coffee

We whirl about in light,
Living on tiny bits of clay,
And we are borne to sight
By dawn’s breaking day.

Are we the only of Life’s finds?
Lone bearers of a living torch.
Can we be alone, creative minds?
Or do others float on the front porch?

Can you hear us? See our waving hands?
Sitting here on tiny lands.
Who shall be the first that understands?

Streaming in through spread curtains,
Sunbeams foretelling the day.
Dust motes dance among the racing photons.
Diamonds winking in the cosmic rays.

What are these floating specks?
Brought to sight by a beam.
Tiny worlds and minute intellects,
Basking here in the solar stream.

Can you hear me? See my waving hands?
Sitting there on little lands,
Who shall be the first that understands?

God steps to the sunny window,
An endless universe, flowing time.
We whirl about in the morning glow,
Nothing but a dust mote in God’s eye.

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