As the world's leaders gather in Paris to address climate change.
Dancing diamonds on the deep,
Holy hawks riding the early winter winds,
Stately stripped trees, ready for frost;
These are yours, O God,
Your veins and muscle,
Your tears and light.
Sunlight falling on dining room chairs,
Morning's duties, coffee in the kitchen,
And an old woman who needs help
Getting to the toilet after a long dark night;
This is all yours, O Maker,
Your rhythm and melody,
Your daily round and good.
Single boat, a lobsterman in the bay,
Working on the frigid cold blue sea
To bring home dinner and hope
For toddlers learning to read;
These are yours, O God,
Your daughters and sons,
Your body and soul.
And in Paris today, the stately brokers
Of power and human responsibility
Gather at long tables, and wait for translators
To recast national interests and scientific data;
The peoples and animals and seas wait on their courage.
The poor and frightened long for good news and peace.
The earth aches for loving, faithful, daring action.
Bless them, in Paris today,
O God of the Holy Hawks!
Make them bold, Old Woman God,
Where they gather, in halls, at tables, on long walks;
Bold enough to care for oceans and ecosystems,
Bold enough to care for melting glaciers and coastal peoples.
Make them strange, strange like the prophets of old,
Strange enough to risk reputations and GNP for
Children yet unborn
And old men in dilapidated camps,
Nurses who clean bedpans
Like priests prepare sacraments,
And diamonds dancing on the deep,
Not traded on markets.
