The quiet Earth gives way to a shallow flowing river,
Allowing the thin trickle of noise to take resonance.
The wind sweeps through the branches of a tall billowing tree,
Creating a majestic rustle of red leaves rushing.
An abandoned parking lot lays empty and alone,
Forgetting its days of youth, life and longevity.
And in that parking lot lies a tiny wisp of a flower;
Frail, and on the edge of being broken and abandoned.
All the while an absence of heat from the blistering sun,
Leaves living beings unsatisfied with an unquenchable tumult,
One that appears on a mothers face like a stern expression,
And sits in the gentle Earth heaving an all-known great presence.
And all this time the deep gusts rush past me in great lashes,
Leaving me chilled, and forever pondering the meaning of life.