Trapdoors to Gods vision,
His rich genre translated
Into objects and art forms.
The concrete breast of nature
Abstract enough to shelter soul,
Applied with restrained harmony
A balm with apocryphal effect;
And such are Places.
Over-brimming God’s cauldron
Altered into cemented elixir
One which renders with sullen ease,
A treat to eyes; A balm to soul;
Worthy are Places.
Sober still and sober they must,
For latent in their gracious self-
Breathes the magic of His work;
Catered in varied quarters,
Hidden are places.
Restore, assort, redeem, resort,
In hundred schemes, A hundred scenes,
And plethora of affluent vista,
Rocked in contrary land and shores,
What not are Places.
Spoonful of His sanguine self,
Caressed in free unfettered form,
Struck with frolic on earth’s breast,
And heaped with age to form Places;
Blessed are Places.