All Things New

by Andrew Menkis

The warm, still air, gently lulls my senses

As I amble beneath the pale blue sky. The cattle roam the hills, free of fences And a distant low sounds like a gentle sigh.

A balmy breeze makes its way through the grass, The tall green blades murmur as they wake. Discontent, they await this age to pass; They groan at their fate and curse the damned snake.

I’m caught in their eager expectation. I listen and become strangely aware, It’s to me they whisper adulation And to heaven that they lift their prayer:

“Reveal the glory of the sons of man Make all things new, according to your plan.”