The Song of the Wild

The sun, a sluggish lion, wakes with a yawn,
Extending brilliant paws across the eastern grass.
Fog, a ghostly artist, blurs in pale presentation,
As sunrise lights the material of the approaching day.

An orchestra rises and shines, a melody in the trees,
Birdsong quavers and whistles on the delicate breeze.
Cardinals in red tweet their morning call,
A robin's tune, a sweet and happy spread.

Daylight paints the dewdrops gripping to the grass,
Precious stones dissipated, shimmering as the minutes pass.
A cobweb's, a work of art of turned silk string,
Flickers with the leftovers of the twilight fear.

The woodland floor, a rug woven green and brown,
Holds old insider facts murmured, never down on paper.
Mushrooms look from shadows, bashful and silvery white,
Growths' quiet realm washed in morning light.

A deer, a ghost glimpse, rises up out of the wood,
Eyes like cleaned golden, careful, quiet, and great.
Muscles swell, smooth areas of strength for and, animal wild and free,
Dissolving back to nature, a piece of the landscape.

The waterway, a silver lace, winds its direction along,
Murmuring mysteries in its steadily streaming tune.
Daylight paints the waves, moving, light and brilliant,
A trout jumps through the surface, a glimmer of silver light.

On an endured branch, a falcon studies the scene,
Sharp eyes filtering, ruler of the verdant green.
Wings spread wide, a quiet tracker, sharp and intense,
Part of nature's equilibrium, a story to be told.

Wildflowers paint the glades in an energetic shade,
Bluebells, daisies, poppies, washed in morning dew.
A honey bee lands, a fuzzy, humming companion,
Gathering dust's abundance, its excursion endlessly.

The transcending redwoods, goliaths old and savvy,
Stand as sentinels, going after the skies.
Bark, a rough material, scratched with stories untold,
Of seasons changing, secrets to unfurl.

The breeze murmurs privileged insights through the antiquated branches,
A stirring ensemble in nature's delicate promises.
Leaves dance and influence, a verdant, undulating tide,
Daylight channels through, dappling on the ground inside.

As the day advances, shadows protract, stretch, and develop,
The sun, a red hot circle, slides in blood red sparkle.
Crickets tweet their melody, a cradlesong so sweet,
Welcoming all to sleep, a quiet, soothing treat.

Stars touch off the material, precious stones in the evening,
The moon, a pearlescent pearl, washes all in delicate light.
Owls hoot an eerie tune, a melody of old legend,
Nature's embroidery unfurls, a mysterious reprise.

From dawn song to twilight melody,
Nature's consistent cadence, an orchestra showed.
A sign of our place, a murmur in the breeze,
That we are important for this miracle, underneath the stirring trees.

So let us track with worship, and care for what we see,
This wild and wondrous world, a gift everlastingly.