how dare you say that about river

dear you,
you are a work of art-
those glittery eyes you insist
are dead,
they are not-
I see a universe about to happen there
I see a flower about to bloom, in the harshest of winter
I see the starving man in the Sahara,
crawling in the blinding heat, crawling
to save himself- and you know what?
He does it. 
He bloody does it.

My masterpiece, God says, how dare you feel so small ?
I worked so hard on you,
so hard my heart swallowed up the seas
so hard my lungs ceased to breathe
so hard I cried rivers to make you beautiful
And you say you are not?
—  Little Wings