A Fragrant Lily Field By The Serene Bay

I'm standing on a fragrant lily field by the serene bay towards midnoon, falcons gather by the splashing rocks with eyes that scare away hungry larks; they must catch their prey and be fed: they'll attack with their claws a buffoon who laughs and breaks the stiff stillness, stumbling down the shell-strewn dunes! One can see the wide wings of geese that flap hard against the spiritless air before encountering the menacing storm; they faintly honk over the grove of fir... then, they vanish from sight to divert fear: happy was their spring and they did perform eloquently to delight senses and release a sound merrier than that of a flycatcher! The sea-breeze turns into violent gusts, they roar bending beeches and spruces; drowsy seagulls feel the blast of incoming rain, they refuse to leave their haven huddling closer.... thinking it won't last to endure useless disdain: should I heed the warning and run faster than a deer? I have a half mile to go before I can defy the insidious threat; my clothes are getting drenched, but I don't show any fret!