Mother Nature

by Joseph Christopher Liguori and Robert James Liguori Shh. Can’t you hear her talking to me. Her voice is the whisper from a tree. Sweet arms are the branches that grab me tight, And lift me towards the light. She’s the angel of the shires With rolling honey combs of bees to put out my fires She’s as strong as oak, though soft as pine, And her embrace soothes me like delicate wine. Her sweet breath gives me life. Being near removes my daily strife. Tender leaves shade me from my fears. Powerful roots dry up my tears. Her jealous friends lack the thorns, So they attack with frenzied acorns. But she protects with her ancient stature For here is my girlfriend, Mother Nature. Saturday, October 23, 2021