DeismDA

With winter comes the death for which its cold is known, But joining it are fragile beings of its own, Containing each a pattern found it in alone. Could such perfection ever on its own arise? Or must the detailed harmony that each supplies Be fashioned by a master craftsman in the skies? But no such craftsman can be found within their storm, For only simple laws to which its clouds conform Are seen to cut the facets of their product’s form. In place of architect is found this sightless force That every peerless pattern follows in its course, With nothing but the laws of nature as its source. And what of this complexity?  Is not it fo