Nature’s Song

While I watched

white, wispy clouds

softly skywrite

sweet nothings

upon

Sky’s cerulean scrolls,

(in the hand

of the whispering winds,

bristling

by blossoms and branches;

beckoning

Summer’s Monsoons

in their own Morse Code),

I heard the

sonnet of snowmelt

trickling across

smoothed story-stones

that murmured echoes

of Winter’s long lament.

Now,

stars shimmer

in concert

with a cricket’s chorus,

serenading the Sun

as she slips slowly

beneath the bed-linens

on the davenport

of Horizon’s porch,

while a pregnant moon

plays shadow puppets

with the guards

against the facade

of stone castles,

resurrected

in the shadows

of eve’s edifice.

Eyes’ curtains draw close

as Night plays on.

Perhaps tomorrow,

I’ll write of Nature’s song.