The ascetic medieval saint
Noticed Mr. Chesterton
Is indeed all skin and bones
Much like other religious men

But if you look quite closely
You may become surprised
For despite his evident torture
You see he opens wide his eyes

His gaze it ventures forth
A world is what he sees
He kneels as Christians do
But when he rises from his knees

He walks the garden path
Sees creatures great and small
And if his name is Francis
He loves them each and all

We have mysteries within
I can feel them too
I revere true Buddhist wisdom
No dualism between me and you

But Chesterton is too correct
A mystery most profound
When we open wide our eyes
Being itself abounds

The Very Soul of the Universe
Still yet another Name for God
Contracts and then creates
Gives birth to such wondrous odd

Hummingbirds and herons
Chartres Cathedral found in France
My Uncle Marty, a man for others
Beautiful women who love to dance

We waken in a world
We ourselves did not create
We open wide our eyes
And with joy we patiently wait

What will we discover?
Are cosmic seas near distant stars?
Do they also teem with Fish?
Is their Creator One like ours?