Nature



Look outside and try to find,
Something with more of Love,
To bless the solace of the mind,
Like Light sent from above.

The thing of which I speak,
Is Mother Nature’s cure,
The thing which I have tried to seek,
The soothing Love so pure.

The Caterpillar in the trees,
The Tadpole in the pond,
The dewy grass within the breeze,
Of it I am so fond.

The gentle Snake it’s slither,
How sly it is how keen,
It shall not beckon hither,
It’s body far too lean.

The snow-white Rabbit in the bog,
And how it dashes so,
The Fireflies within the fog,
And how they come and go.

The baby Wolf who frolics out,
It’s pitch-Black fur so pure,
The Eagle who flies all about,
The Horses on the moor.

The Age-Old Crow the Singing Dove,
The Bluebirds and the Jays,
Of Heaven’s pure and simple love,
To help us pass the days.

The harmless shadow of the Oak,
Who stands above the Stream,
Never shall it ere provoke,
Sentinel it shall seem.