þingvellir Park, Iceland


Rugged lines, ragged rocks,
The moss and grass can’t mute the years
Of violent heavings ere Vikings sailed
Or man appeared to make his mark.

Ancient forces issued forth
From deep within the darkened earth;
Hardened ice and heavy snow
Crumbled soil and crushed boulders.

Pangs of twisting, pains of sin
Convulse the planet, vain in purpose,
World and man awash in madness,
Their beauty fading, burning to ashes.

The Sound Is Heard

The falling forest tree unheard,
The question asked if there is sound,
With no one near but bear and bird,
When limbs and trunk crash to the ground.

Can birds and creatures of the wild
Not hear the life that moves the wood?
Why then such questions of the child? —
And more — who hears all things is God.