The Anvil

Far-cast through the eons,

The worlds were forged aright

By no chanceling-peon,

But the Lord of light:

The bright One swung no hammer,

Nor used flame or tong,

But only divine grammar

Slipping from the tongue.

Light and form and beauty

Made He with a thought

Brought to voice: not duty,

But with great love wrought.

Life and love and laughter

Made He with his own:

"Happily ever after!",

In space's fabric sown!

This poem won first place for the September 2022 poetry contest