Seasons

Let nature live and last. Let it change itself and us.

Green garments clothe Nature, our matron fair

Lush is she, embellished by floral hues

Fine fabrics of the forest, flowers in her hair

Eyes comprised of skies, bright bountiful blues

To hear the sweet tweet of the meadowlark

Rivers rushing, let loose from frozen snow

Countless crickets chirping tunes to the dark

From seed to sprout to stigma flowers grow

The old man edifies the vibrant child

Letting him learn the lessons of the lakes

Cast out to catch the trout about the wild

Patience, to wait until as long time takes

When all has grown, our matriarch shall bask

As she sits ‘neath the cottoned solar range 

Breathing the breeze, too complacent to ask

Why temperatures steadily seem to change

Zebras herd beside oxen to survive

In legions, antelope converge for thirst

Their dense droves will keep progeny alive

Till stalking prides from shadowed midst shall burst

The young man sees others escaping heat

Salvation in that lake where catch he chased

Be memory and fervency replete

He helped pollute the water with his waste

Her boundless bundled tress, she sheds with shame

Landscapes wrought red, crimson remnants downpour

Stripped of costume, exposed, she shows her frame

Lewd men come to ravish, calling it war

The bird retreats to better atmospheres

The bear pillaging caverns, claiming home

Preparing for the winter as it nears

For soon shall it be barren where they roam

Man masquerades through all realms he visits

And settles where domain shan’t his right be

Not minding that his lake is off limits,

They whom prohibit reign, he is not free.

Alas, our mother thins in attrition

Old and dying, a guise of silver stone

At last, we grieve for her cold condition

In vain, for we have plundered her to bone

Scarce are species when motley meadows pale

Hiding from climatic insurrection

They hibernate through hurricanes of hail

Awaiting the advent resurrection

Once more, the old man returns to the loch

Cast out to catch the trout about the tarn

A child intrigued comes close to sit and talk

Patience is something with but time he’ll learn

Reviews

[cloud]

To be able to write in such a way is a gift.

[Tina Kline]

A very well crated poem. There is a time and place for everything.

[Chris]

The circle of life... defined, abused, restored.

[Coyote Poetry]

Beautiful journey and thoughts shared in the poetry.
"Once more, the old man returns to the loch
Cast out to catch the trout about the tarn
A child intrigued comes close to sit and talk
Patience is something with but time he’ll learn"
You create many places and visions in the words. The above lines are true ending for the most of us. Thank you for sharing the outstanding poetry.
Coyote

[Justin Littlefield]

Thank you for the kind review coyote. I am always privileged to have your feedback, and to know you have been touched is motivational.

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome. I enjoyed your work.