First he carved
the water
whittled it
dropp by drop
placed it just so...in place
‘til it gleamed
with its perfection.
Then, with a sigh
he fashioned grass
stroking it
until it lay gentle
under his
tender hand
sky a blue
he just wished
and it was...just was.
My uncle creating
the world
as I listened
to his whistle
watching the world
come alive
under the flash
of his blade
whittling into being
(all things)
all things.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/creation-for-lyn/
