by Meriem Cherif
Splinter of wood and speck of dust
Every fiber of hers I trust
Grain of sand and whisper of wind
Not just the end, but she who begins
Slivers and snippets of soothing silence
Is it by fate, or simply by chance?
Her creation of the meadows where I prance
My human naivete leads me to never know
And thus, her wonders never wholly show.
Henceforth, I simply enjoy what I see
My appreciations ebb and flow carefree
Embracing what I can’t understand
The beauties of the world still feel so grand
For, in her enigmatic essence,
Her triumphs retain their effervescence