Touching Heaven

I bent and touched the ground and fallen leaves
That lay and curled and crisply browned the earth.
It doesn't matter what a man believes,
Whether of dying or of springtime birth.
What matters is the touch, the grasp, the feel;
These are the things which truly are the real.

I  smelt the autumn leaves, the moulding soil,
And closed my eyes and felt the touch of mist:
I heard the sounds of countrymen who toil,
The sounds and sights I never can resist.
My mind and soul succumb to nature's spell;
I've touched the earth, and sense here Heaven as well.

God stays and looks at me and I at Him;
We pause together and we share the day.
The sun begins to sink, the light grows dim
And God has said what He has got to say.
It matters not if you believe or no,
Faith is the landscape where we all can go.

And when the baby cries or smiles at me,
Or when the child turns and grasps my hand,
Or when a tear in lovers' eyes I see,
I recognise they somehow understand.
They know that Heaven awaits us all nearby,
Where God will smile and sing His lullaby.