Classic Poem

In all things there are veritable atoms,
Though the senses cannot perceive them,
Struggling to emerge into shape
From the wondrous workmanship of God.
Water flowing, flowers budding,
The limpid dew evaporating,
An important road, stretching far,
A dark path where progress is slow
So words should not shock,
Nor thought be inept.
But be like the green of spring,
Like the snow beneath the moon.