Ben Grader
12-19-2003, 01:58 PM
I am lost in the mystery of the morning
there was a frost and bushes sparkle white;
now a mist hangs in the valley fields.
The early sun, picks out the hedgerows in blue and grey
and silhouettes them as they fade into the distance.
Wary pigeons sit in treetops, waiting for the suns first rays
to reach them, as they huddle on the branches.
I should be working but I am entranced
a silent buzzard glides across the sky
watching keen eyed for careless rabbits
as its makes its path, over the quiet meadows.
There near the willows at the rhine
a cautious muntjac breaks from cover
from the watering place and makes its way
to the deep shelter of the woods.
I idle and I watch, nature unfold her secrets all around,
an early heron, its movements in slow motion
searches along the water, hunting in vain this day.
Fishes are swimming deep, with winter here
it must change its search to someone's garden pond.
The buzzard, now three fields away, swoops suddenly
a thoughtless rabbit pays with its life, nature is cruel
but life for one, means anothers death.
At last I stir myself, though I would stay and watch
had I the chance, half an hour I have wasted
now I shall be late. Yet I have seen the beauty
of the morning; nature divulge her workings.
How many people in the towns and cities
would have liked the luck, to have sat, as I did
and watched, the mystery of the morning.
there was a frost and bushes sparkle white;
now a mist hangs in the valley fields.
The early sun, picks out the hedgerows in blue and grey
and silhouettes them as they fade into the distance.
Wary pigeons sit in treetops, waiting for the suns first rays
to reach them, as they huddle on the branches.
I should be working but I am entranced
a silent buzzard glides across the sky
watching keen eyed for careless rabbits
as its makes its path, over the quiet meadows.
There near the willows at the rhine
a cautious muntjac breaks from cover
from the watering place and makes its way
to the deep shelter of the woods.
I idle and I watch, nature unfold her secrets all around,
an early heron, its movements in slow motion
searches along the water, hunting in vain this day.
Fishes are swimming deep, with winter here
it must change its search to someone's garden pond.
The buzzard, now three fields away, swoops suddenly
a thoughtless rabbit pays with its life, nature is cruel
but life for one, means anothers death.
At last I stir myself, though I would stay and watch
had I the chance, half an hour I have wasted
now I shall be late. Yet I have seen the beauty
of the morning; nature divulge her workings.
How many people in the towns and cities
would have liked the luck, to have sat, as I did
and watched, the mystery of the morning.