Amazing Grace

She cannot ebb
or taste the clear sky.

Grace has fallen,
gold spilling into the grass
(her gold dew).

She is nothing now,
over down-trodden, into earth.

Grace grows into the trees,
she rises, buds.

It is not her way forward
but she still manufactures a new beginning,
always.

Grace has the ability to be chosen,
alive or breathing shallow,

she does not have to consider.
Grace is,
grace is.