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Here’s a poignant nature poem by Elsy, in Different Truths.

To me, that tree
is the perfect poem
for all moods, all seasons.
In Spring
she wears scented blooms,
bewitching bees, beetles, and butterflies
who dart in and out, fully drunk.
In Summer
she decks herself
with ruby red cherries,
enticing birds of all age,
who rush in for the grand nosh-up.
Come Fall,
she turns full golden,
like an Indian bride,
all adorned in gold.
Enamoured, the winds
turn up from surprise angles,
and rob her shawls for a souvenir.
In Winter,
unrobed, yet unflawed,
she stays in poised rest,
awaiting the snow white robe.
As the bard sings,
age cannot wither her,
nor stasis stale
her infinite variety.
Oh! Ma Earth!
the author of perfect poems,
you are the only Deity
in the Altar of my soul!

Photos from the Internet


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