Gifts through the senses:

I will thank him for the pleasures given me through my senses, for the glory of the thunder, for the mystery of music, the singing of birds and the laughter of children.  I will thank him for the pleasures of seeing, for the delights through colour, for the awe of the sunset, the beauty of flowers, the smile of friendship and the look of love; for the changing beauty of the clouds, for the wild roses in the hedges, for the form and beauty of birds, for the leaves on the trees in spring and autumn, for the witness of the leafless trees through the winter, teaching us that death is sleep and not destruction, for the sweetness of flowers and the scent of hay.  Truly, oh Lord, the earth is full of thy riches!  And yet, how much more I will thank and praise God for the strength of my body enabling me to work, for the refreshment of sleep, for my daily bread, for the days of painless health, for the gift of my mind and the gift of my conscience, for his loving guidance of my mind ever since it first began to think, and of my heart ever since it first began to love.  

    Edward King, Sermons and Addresses (Longmans, Green and Co. 1911), p. 37. 

                    Mud Pies

Of men, of maidens, mirth and merriment,

Giggling gaggles of oogling girls,

Bugling boys in bands of regiment,

Twittering, flittering butterfly worlds.

Kittens enthralled, their piece of yarn dangling,

Puppies square off in a shoe tug-of-war,

Marbles and jacks, as well constant wrangling

O'er who will be "it" and who changed the score.

Worlds far apart these memories linger,

Days in the sun ever falling behind,

Galloping life sticks all in the wringer,

Dalliance slayed on the altar of time.

Now happen you see pies crafted from mud,

Shower the chef who whets memory buds.