Instead

There is no finesse like Nature herself,

as she sings over the horses and the cattle.

The grass will ever-prattle and dance to the waves of the wind.

Clouds roll in like riots of chariots with victory on their mind.

Rain teases and totters throughout the delicious day.

The perimeter of the trees provide fatherly correction, in stoic daily watch,

never tiring of graciously judging the decisions of the world.

I hold the hand of poignant barbed wire, as my heart attempts to expire,

alas, there is no finesse like Nature herself,

so maybe she can be my wife for life instead.