Stones And Palms (an original poem)

 

 ‘Cry out stones!’ sang the palms,
‘for these, our bearers, cannot shout
The hail of the universal king
As He turns their logic out.
Like a rudder the size of a hand,
Upon a ship of seven oceans,
That achieves the impossible steering
And defies inertial motion.’

‘Wave!’ the stones replied,
‘for we are too heavy to dance,
And though we live ten thousand lives,
This season’s crop has chance,
To suffer the donkey’s footsteps
And play a susurration.
In this short time that binds all times,
Let us aid His coronation.’