Just because, I can not see, This thing I call a mystery, Does not mean, that it’s not there. It touches senses everywhere.
This element, I know it’s there I can not see it, but I can hear, The whisper it makes, through needles of pine, Like the feel of a touch on fabric fine. The noise it makes through leaves of oak, Whose bows it bends with every stroke. The roar it makes before a storm, Is the message it sends, for all to be warned. The howl it makes in a hurricane, Could drive a man crazy, or even insane. The breath it blows, can be soft and light, Like the kiss of a lover in the dark of the night.
This element, I know it’s there. I can’t see it, but I can smell.
The fragrance of a distance bloom. That if, when cut, would fill a room. The scent of rain, to far to see, Foretells of clouds, that are soon to be. The smell of smoke, from a burning fire, Its embers can comfort, its leaping flames dire. That field of hay, was yesterday tall. Today the sythe will make it fall. To release to the air, on a gentle breeze, Each blade of grass with its fragrancees.
This element, I know it’s there. I can not see it, but I can taste. Its contents from another place. Ask any sailor, and he will say, That the wind brings the taste, Of salt on its spray. Ask any bee and she will say. That it helps to guide her, on her way, To that bloom in the meadow with nectar sweet, So when in winter, her sisters can eat. And ask any bird, which will reply. Just what makes your body fly? Without a flap, without a care. What keeps you up there, in the air? With outstretched wings, in circles soar. So high you can see the Heaven’s door.
Just because, I can not see, This thing I call a mystery, Does not mean, that it’s not there. It touches the senses everywhere.
It has such powers to behold. Its countless stories have been told. And since the dawn of history. Its tales are told with intensity. Just because I can not see. This thing I call a mystery. This power with vast energy. And with my face I feel its force. And I can tell when it changes course. From every point on a compass face, Would point direction to the place, From where it comes, to where it goes. No man could guess, no man could know.
The answer to this mystery. Is now so crystal clear to me. That I’m amazed, and I am awed. This mystery is the breath of God.