Praise for flecked things –
Skies are clear, due to him;
Torrent drip, trout that swim;
Fresh honeysuckle, another apple falls;
Valleys plowed and pieced – caressed,
cured, and called.
The land, quite, dappled (who knows how?)
With soft hands, he does allow.
Sun, sweet, showers, dim.
Again tomorrow we praise him.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.