The Language of Nature
Each language has it’s own beauty…
perhaps that’s why people travel the world seek them…
I imagine, just like me,
they would someday like to speak them…
But there is one language we may never speak…
it is a culture without words
It’s one we step outside to seek…
in the trees…the rivers…the birds.
It’s a language none of us can recreate…
as it remains, to us, unknown
because nature does not translate…
a language all her own.
When rain drops fall…when they first appear
Seedlings immediately know…
as the water reaches them they hear…
little ones…it’s time to grow.
And when the sun’s rays touch that soon-to-be flower…
as it awakens from its womb
the silent sunshine reveals its power….
when it whispers…time to bloom
The wind invisibly rushes out and in…
we try to comprehend but we have no chance
for we know only where she’s been…
as we watch the trees behind her dance.
Songs are the way birds talk, or perhaps the way they pray…
Do they always know the words…or sometimes…do they wing it
And though we don’t know what they’re trying to say…
we enjoy the way they sing it.
We know all living things talk to each other…
We know they’ve found a way
We know they’re conversing with their mother…
We just don’t know what they say.
But that’s okay with us…because we choose…
to enjoy their music and their dance
without recognizing the words they use…
like when we visit Italy or France.
In a way it’s like we’re in a foreign land…
Nature’s land of trees and fish and birds
and tho their language we may never fully understand
we can enjoy the rhythm of their words.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment