There’s an orchestra in the trees
A funny band they are, uniform with instruments.
The same notes rustle enchanted leaves,
Putting on a show for the feathery clouds pasted
Across the tapestry of God’s palace,
(For a carpenter, it’s strange He fancies blue)
Spreading before my eyes covered in awe
Taking it all in: the air pressure mounting Bucephalus to move
Feathers on the band, the sunlight stealing trinkets of colour for
My hungry eyes, the Earth of golden brown,
Holding years of history in stories it whispers to my consciousness
As I grab a fistful of my raw material.
Maybe I should seek a seat by those rowdy fellows
And watch their breasts vibe at the resonance
Of nature’s beauty.
Oh that band of one instrument.
One as an instrument taking me home.
The silent slither of the spring sun
Swept over the seed. Timidly the shoot sprung,
Rising through storms, oblivious of mean thunder,
Scorning the shrubs which struggled for light under,
And those shrubs would fade, fade away.
Violent winds, silent breezes, it stood through weather’s caprice,
Braving drought, bathing in rain, strong through Aprils,
Till flowers dawned on its face; adorning.
And Nature paused in wonder adoring
And its gaze could not dare be swayed away.
Miles were trod and years flew by,
The proud-flowered still stood with style
Amidst the lower creatures, ruling and all,
And through winter cold grew in beauty and all
While others would wither or be cleared away.
Violent men have conquered and built empires theirs,
But all went up, and as gravity holds, returned to their peers.
So was nature cast, to the misfortune of the seed,
Which in beauty was so deceived as to scorn. So nature did
Turn its eyes away, and the flowers faded slowly away.