The trees above
Are the fierce protectors
Like the lands inspectors
Of everything below
The water runs
In rippling waves
Calling the animals
To come out of their caves
The wind sounds
Like an army of bees
Setting down
The weary leaves
The plants, though small
Give off a scent
Like a hard days' work
Strong, endless, and seemingly spent
The weather is a perfect thing
It calls the birds
And tells them to sing
Their never-ending songs
 |
|
||||||||||||||
|
|
||||||||||||||
|
Poemsland.org
|
|||||||||||||||