rrrstop
04-29-2007, 01:01 PM
Is it not Nature truly, to walk and to rest
In a garden partly of human planting?
To wonder that it is too early in the season
For most of these bushes to flower,
Yet gaze across rolling fields
To stands of spring trees fully leaved?
I sense a quietness of the air, latent with warmth.
The first-hatched insects buzz around.
The path between trees winds down that a-way,
Brown and damp beneath the ferns and oaks.
The call of a sunlit bird harkens, though,
"Were you waiting for me?"
In a garden partly of human planting?
To wonder that it is too early in the season
For most of these bushes to flower,
Yet gaze across rolling fields
To stands of spring trees fully leaved?
I sense a quietness of the air, latent with warmth.
The first-hatched insects buzz around.
The path between trees winds down that a-way,
Brown and damp beneath the ferns and oaks.
The call of a sunlit bird harkens, though,
"Were you waiting for me?"