Lo, I do believe it is eternity,
spoken to fruition under seraphim’s tears,
falling as the simpler raindrop cannot collide.
And upon its meeting with the banquet of seas,
the windswept grains did not hinder its path,
though ripples can shift with the free swaying dock.
For as the clouds begin shifting and the heaven cries rain,
abroad the shoals of Ireland and, of all else, the world,
the eternal remiss turns the eternal refrain.
And I laugh, as stepping stones do not sleep,
they merely calm for the transient cross,
for lonely drops of water do not ever know the way.
And I, being one, was once falling through air,
and dabbling with singularity apart from the ocean,
till I met my own balance, and was one with my friends, and said,
“Lo, I do believe this is eternity.”