When mother nature swirls around
sweeping dust and dirts off the ground;
her dance steps create sour sights and sound...
which make torture in nature abound.
Hear the cannonading thrusts of thunder;
how each sparks tear the atmosphere asunder.
Watch the pitter patter raindrops plunder
those little lilies we watch with wonder.
Morning music begins with cocks crowing;
and at noon, Magpies on trees keep warbling.
No one waits to hear the green snakes' slithering;
as nature keeps the moonlight trees whispering.
I hear the sound of silence in the cloud...
and the whispers of windstorm ever loud.
Autumn tells a tale of how to humble the proud...
Nature nutures noises that could strip a stroud.
Categories:
cannonading, autumn, bird,
Form: Rhyme
When mother nature swirls around
sweeping dust and dirts off the ground;
her dance steps create sour sights and sound...
which make torture in nature abound.
Hear the cannonading thrusts of thunder;
how each sparks tear the atmosphere asunder.
Watch the pitter patter raindrops plunder
those little lilies we watch with wonder.
Morning music begins with cocks crowing;
and at noon, Magpies on trees keep warbling.
No one waits to hear the green snakes' slithering;
as nature keeps the moonlight trees whispering.
I hear the sound of silence in the cloud...
and the whispers of windstorm ever loud.
Autumn tells a tale of how to humble the proud...
Nature nutures noises that could strip a stroud.
Categories:
cannonading, analogy, autumn, bird,
Form: Rhyme