In spring
I heard
Birds sing
With such ecstacy
In a tree,
As I did pass
Along the woodland path.
They sang not For me.
Yet it filled my heart,
And I almost forgot
My art
In their, unconscious poetry.
Birds in a Tree
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Tag Archives: the natural world
Mother Nature
In thee
I see
And hear
Beauty and cruelty.
The sweetness of birdsong
Brings tears to my eye,
For I
Know that our birdsong
Will not last long.
Some see cruelty
In the cat’s play with the bird,
But have they not heard
That we, in nature see
Our own inhumanity.
A cat
Remains just that,
A cat,
Whilst we …
Humans anthropomorphize
And say, in nature lies
Beauty and cruelty.
But, what we see
Is you and me.
The Changeless Wind, in the Bushes
The changeless wind, in the bushes.
Civilisation rushes
Ever faster.
Then, the disaster
Of corona, makes everything, slow.
Yet I
See bees go,
Busily by.
I Walked The Woodland Path
I
Walked the woodland path
And passed
By
Tall, slender flowers.
Now I
Traverse, in verse
That self-same path,
And grow flowers
In my mind.
The flowers
May be gone tomorrow.
For I find
That we borrow
Time.
True, many a rose
Has been emmortalised in rhyme
But the poet knows,
That he has limited time.
Daisies
The daisies remain,
Although not the same
As those I saw
Carpetting Nature’s floor,
When, as a child
I ran wild
And free.
I can almost see
The Daisy Chain,I made from nature’s great store.
Better to have left them on her green floor.
As it is much easier to disrupt than construct.
And the chain I composed
On the school playing field
Did yield
To time.
Am I arrogant to suppose
That this little rhyme
May outlast the brief hour
Of a daisy flower?
Bowed
A tree branch, bowed
Half blocked the track.
I did not turn back
But ducked under.
There it stands,
Guarding the path.
Bowed by the recent wind.
Nature will have the last laugh,
Whether this tree
Outlasts me,
Or no.
She Said to Me
She said to me
Yesterday, that she
Does not like to see
The rain.
On my way
Through the park yesterday
Slow droplets of rain
Fell from the trees,
And I heard
Birds sing.
How strange it is to me
That she should see
No beauty in these
Rain, and birds, and trees.
The Coming Gale
Last night the rain
Came,
And the wind
To
Which almost blew
Me off my human feet.
Windblown
I took refuge at home,
From the gale.
Sheep continue to speak
Of progress.
But the wise turn pale
For they know
That the gale
May blow
Humanity off it’s feet.
I Walk Amidst These Windblown Leaves
I walk amidst these
Windblown
Leaves.
How time has flown.
I shall in beauty drown,
And think on these
Fallen leaves,
Which now strew the ground.
The Rain Patters Amongst These Leaves
The rain
Patters Amongst these leaves.
I listen again
And ascertain,
That its the breeze
Midst these trees.
Yet it sounds the same
As rain.
K Morris - Poet 