Nature's Pattern

Through the forgotten meadows of nature; For the wind whom grazes on grass more often, And the tears fallen from the sky; A purpose out of our knowledge. A sunset leaving at pleasant ease, Before guiding our last dove to its nest. A sense of harmony; nature plays it best. Our minds choose to provide us with a guise; Only the morning light could satisfy our hymns. A synchronized melody; At which the inferior dove will sing for its children. However this sacred idea; Another selfish cling to our souls. The pattern made obvious; even to the blind, But we'd rather scatter the ashes of reality; For it is our superior nature, that plays a lesser role in what nature really is; However I'd rather burn this page, and leave its ashes somewhere in our forgotten meadows. Maybe then would nature be at peace with the next blank page in our arrogant minds.