Ode To An Alaskan Marsh

I know a place where the tall cotton grass blooms and blows,
where the fireweed blazes and the nodding cattail grows
a haven overgrown with ruddy cranberry and spongy moss
emitting their tart scent the playful breeze does toss.

The humble bog berry and the crimson colored rose hip
rapidly ripening before season's temperatures do dip
arching over this burgeoning scene a pale blue sky
giving sweet pleasure to faces of each passerby.

There raises up the graceful neck of the gander goose
dominating its domain except for the lordly moose
browsing languidly for succulent roots and fiber stalks
quite indifferent to deadlines and clocks.

The silvery salmon shimmers in many limpid pools
gathering together in their wavy little schools
while the sharp winged arctic teal swoops and darts aloft
in the air so clear and the shadows so soft.

At dusk the sun gathers streamers of exquisite shade
a master artist assigns each delicate hue to be made.
Some darkening pink suffused with papaya yellow
spreading glowing embers of light over the marsh so mellow

The grand maker, God in the Bible, has stated
that for his love for mankind he has created
through his invisible qualities of majesty and power
are seen by the things made from sunsets to flowers.