little children sit, basking in the sun
their laughter lights upon the world
holistically calling all pens

dipped with ink to tell
of the glory of God’s grandeur
of His infinitesimal love so great

permeating everything, everywhere, everybody
to the point, that point
where we cannot see but for Him

for by the rivers of Babylon
we take down our harps from the trees;
where once our songs of sadness draped

among the sycamores, pines, and lindens
only our happiness remains
bestowed on us, for us, by God,

for God is love and love is real
so our prayers creeping towards heaven
amidst the priests’ holy incense

are filled with thoughts
of the New Jerusalem through
the smile of a child.