The Endless Recycling Of Life.
When dawn breaks,
birds begin the task
of lilting litanies,
that clash so,
with my morning news
spread silent before me.
I find my words worth on each page,
from sorrows men have pressed,
but there are no such worthy words,
to capture natures dress.
Forsythia will not forsake,
the brightening of my mourn,
while crocuses peep lovely heads,
on nature's hems reborn,
From winter's coldest, last embrace,
she sweeps in splendid form,
her tulips bend to kiss the earth,
her sky blue eyes so warm.
Around me though the world's at war,
life blooms on unaware,
each flowered cup, opens to sup,
the fresh dew from Springs air,
Yes, even in Afghanistan,
poppies grace killing fields,
and in Iraq, from crushed Hummer tracks,
the blooms refuse to yield.
The birds fetch worms, and feed the needs
of fuzzy newborn hopes,
while young men fall, God blesses all
earth's beauty helps us cope.
Thus from the earth, where we're all bound
life burst forth to reclaim
the beauty that the bitter steals
perhaps we'll do the same.
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