The Miracle
“I saw a magician take sacred ash from thin air,
Produce a bright round lemon with a flick of his holy wrist,
The crowd gasped, fell prostrate in adoration,
Worshipping this God Incarnate with flowers, fruit
And best of all, coins of the realm.
“The magician’s smile was – most Divine!
In desperate need of air, I climbed the nearest hill,
Soothed by the sudden silence, the sacred stillness
So terrifying to the herd, I saw a blood red flower
Amidst the soft green grass felicitate the Universe.
An adolescent squirrel scurried across my foot,
The sun’s rays hung like golden needles in dark leaves.
Fools! thought I, with a vengeance strange to me.
Fools! When all is so obvious, when all is so clear.
Still you clamor for miracles,
Still you clamor for testimony!”