As the honey-gold hue
of the decending sun
drifts spilling over the landscape,
filtering between the trees
and cascading over the
gently rolling hills,
cleansing the Earth anew,
a sense of serenity
befalls the world.
The birds sing;
the trees sigh
under the breezy,
goading tug of the
whist'ling gales as
they pattern the sky
with soft, virgin
tufts of cotton
giving roost to
the inevitable trickle
of rain to quench the
thirst of this parched,
dry land, singing the flowers
to life as they drum
their little fingers on household
windowpanes, all the while
soothing us to sleep
until giving birth to shuddering,
violent roars of thunder and
mighty flashes of blind rage
to keep us on our toes.
We may never fully
understand the workings
of this world. Though
some appear to know all,
I, a simple fellow, will
sit on my porch,
relatively content, with
a warm mug of freshly
brewed coffee close at hand,
and watch the world
turn through time,
giving way under
winter's savage berth
only to return anew
springing from the soil,
giving birth to life abundant,
all the while admiring
the pastel, sun-stroked
sky and continue to
gaze into the horizon,
bidding farewell into
the receding twilight
as the sun lay to rest,
only to rise again,
cresting a blue sky
in another spectacular
spring-time conception.