The pattern of the small, by Yvonne Aburrow
Tread not the dim stair of troubled thought
Thinking of what might be, or what ought -
But travel on the way of silence,
Where the pattern of the lesser stars
Shall guide you in unwonted paths
Where none have trod,
and you shall dwell in the mind of God.
Only learn the pattern of the small,
Seemingly insignificant, and all
Nature shall be revealed in a leaf,
The swirling eddy of a stream,
The tracks of animals in fresh laid snow,
Your last night's dream -
All are thoughts in the Lady's mind.
When the sea mumbles at the dark shore
And the moonlight shows a hidden truth -
When the world seems a painted whore
And all companions seem uncouth -
Look behind the cheap façade,
The dismal show -
All these dwell in the heart of God.
When the tangled wrack of dreams
Is lit by dawn's revealing glow,
Broken and sharp in the callous beams,
And despair climbs in bed with sorrow,
Do not follow - look to the waves of the sea,
How they are free,
And ebb and flow in the Lady's heart.
Look to the giggling aspen tree,
The silent mirth of the willow tree,
As they dance to the wind's wild music -
Whether the cold winds blow from the East
Or the gentle breeze from the South,
They fear no drouth,
For they dance to the pattern of Pan.
As the weaver weights Her thread with stones
And for Her shuttle carves forgotten bones,
She sings a cradle song of antique tune
Rocking the clouds for the infant Moon.
See how the sparks fly from Her knife
Kindling new life -
Creating design from circumstance.