A wise old whale, the Plato of the sea
A minnow as it darts about in the brook
A hawk or an eagle, majestically soaring
The littlest starling, pecking at some seeds

An indignant housecat, grey and proud
A playful dog that bounds about in the meadow
An ancient, twisted tree, gnarled and knowing
The first brave little crocus that pushes out of February soil

The Sun, whether blazing orange and hot
Or thin and silver, peeking through the clouds
The clouds themselves, white, grey, or black
Malleable and inescapable

The Moon – Maiden, Mother, Crone
Glowing silver throughout her life
The stars – diamonds hung in Spirit's window
A sunset, perfect and unique, never to be seen again

The ocean, wild and untamable
Her subtle strength slowly wearing at the world
Purple mountains against a blue sky
The silent woods where the faeries play

The tiny silverfish on the bathroom floor
And the spider weaving quietly in the corner
How can you look at any of these
And not believe they have a soul?