Little creatures: A poem 

This poem, about little creatures, I wove 

who have their sails in streams of love 

as if they were gifts from above 

There is nothing to ask for in love, but love 

A seemingly empty but abundant trove 

Can the hand realise warmth, that wears the glove? 

This poem is about faithful innocence 

Rapturous flowers of invisible, magnitude scents 

Can we fathom their empowering essence? 

These little creatures are valleys and mountains 

Both deep and high, all that the universe contains 

It takes pure souls to know how love flows and rains