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No part of this poetry should be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author, Joe DiMino, who retains all rights: contact


"The Patterns of It All" (by Joe DiMino)

There are things too perfect
One dare not taint them
Even with a thought so changeable—
But just sit in awe and gawk…
Letting them speak their own mysteries:
As the sun speaks its light
Into blossoms; and the moon,
Needing no Michael to chisel away
Billions of years of artful peaks
And shadows—

Leave that to the lovers
Who made them…

And the poets
Who exalt them…

And the scientists—
Despite their elegant brain power—
Who cannot maim them;
Rested God not till His claims
On the patterns of it all.

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