Beautiful, messy Nature

Nature isn’t nature at all

But a beauty born by Someone higher.

Like a man grown tall by nature’s call

And then taking credit to his desire.

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But then again, what is this natural flow

That radiates through our Earth?

We can’t control its spinning, so

What is nature really worth?

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It will come to destroy our peace

With her tornadoes, tsunamis and heat.

But still, it will grow the softest fleece

To warm our cold, snow- bitten feet.

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Is there a way to describe this… thing?

Is it evil, kind or grey?

Do her nightly winds whistle to sing

Or to simply get in the way?

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Do her mountains proudly stand

To instill a quiet tranquility?

Or do they simply tend to demand

The climb beyond ability?

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Do her powerful sun’s nightly goodbyes

Silence all the daily stress

Or do they solemnly trigger sighs

And blindly trip you over your mess?

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She’ll be a mystery forever more,

In all her vibrant glory

But what we can choose to keep to store

Is the brighter of her story.