An Excerpt from "The Writ" by Paul Gray.
©Copyright 2012 by Paul Gray. All rights reserved

Could e're the distance twixt the earth
And yonder burning sun
Be shorter than a fortnight's walk
And less upon the run?

Can rain withhold her moisture
As it falls upon the crop
Or tree invert her harvest
Taking root across the top

No mountain weighs as upside down
No valley sinks too high
No meadow shows her grass as blue
With green upon her sky

Not one of these will follow
Not on purpose nor by chance
None may occur by accident
With no such circumstance

By rule of law sweet nature
Takes control of all these things
Yet only you control the ways
In me when my heart sings