Let there be water.

Let it be called pond.

Let trunk and branch and leaf arise around it,

Walling the sky’s mirror against too much.

Let small plump birds paddle its silk surface,

Their calls echoing ancient creation.

Let stiff winged things fly and dart about

Above stiff legged things that skim

A criss cross the water’s top.

And let beneath flash silver through the murk.

Let it rise and ripple and vanish in its other world.

Let sun shine and moon.

Let clouds pass.

Let day and night.

Let wind and rain.

And one morning

When the grass is as wet as water

And sky, trees, soft breeze whisper

Glory, glory, glory,

Let a young man come there

From too much, carrying a rod.

Let him sit, savour, search the deep for silver.

And let, O Lord, who said, "Let it be",

It be that he finds enough,

Is filled and goes happy away.

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