Poetry

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The behemoth in which God made,
He is eating grass like an ox;
His size making him not afraid,
The ground shakes wherever he walks.

Behold the strength within his loins,
Likewise power in his muscles;
Such mightiness where each joint joins,
Having great speed when he hustles.

He makes his tail stiff as steel,
And his thighs are knit together;
A fortress that they do reveal,
Even stronger as they gather.

His bones the same as tubes of bronze,
His limbs are like bars of iron;
Waking up when the new day dawns,
The location where they sojourn.

He is the first creature of God,
Let Him who made bring near His sword;
Such a creation as to laud,
For becoming His own reward.

For the mountains yielding his food,
Where all of the wild beasts play;
Well manner and good attitude,
With no thoughts of going astray.

Under the lotus plants he lies,
Sheltered by reeds and shady trees;
Vigilant as seen through His eyes,
Faithful to what the Lord decrees.

Lotus trees cover him for shade,
The willows of the brook surround;
He will never to be afraid,
When hearing a distressing sound.

No fear from a troubled river,
No piercing his nose with a snare;
When if cold he will not shiver,
No other creature can compare.

Copyright © 2021 Richard Newton Sherrer

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