Question the worry

I cross the street, I amble the fields
I meet the blue lake, the water so still
I gaze at the shimmer of rays so bright
They turned the dark, to sunup light

I hear the birds, their sound sweet of song and pray
Of glories they chirp, worries astray
I strum the tune of bees that hum, tiny wings little flutter
Beat back their way with nectar, wax homes don’t matter

Then the men they wake, early dawn break
Axe and sickle, plough share many fields to rake
To splinter wood, a blaze to keep warm
Ploughs thru a hard ground, thickets and thorn

The tiny sparrow from a far green tree flew
Held by Power sturdy, against winds that blew
Fearless she counters, her strength come from where
Watches The Power and she, as men they despair

How small the bird & bee, yet so loved
Natured and provided for, from far above
So perfect the man, created by He
Then question the worry, when on the Master’s palm carved is he.