Spring Morning

The sweet misted chilled air, just before day break
The dawn chorus of birds, folds over the tree lined fields
Like bunting dancing in the breeze of each tomorrow
Urgent calls of the young, calling to be fed by…
Nature’s annual rhythm welcoming each new life.

Gentle, as the Sun warms the carpet of life giving insects
The gregarious honey bees, forage for the abundant nectar
Butterflies, wasps, even flies, follow their vague to path success
Never knowing when, when their spring day might end
As nourishment for a squawking hungry chick.

It has ever been so, nature cold hearted in its ferocity
The meandering brook, lush with tall reeds
The woven grass ball, home to the field mouse
Her pups nervous, whilst their mother is out foraging
Success, her mouth pouches, bulging with caught insects.

All the while, life develops, grows, learns to survive
In the steady soft breeze, scarcely lighter than a whisper
Dappled tree leaf shadows dance across the ground
Ground living creatures hide from predators
Wise enough to know, only to venture out as hunger drives.

Tangled tree root hollows, lined with dried grass
Might be safe from cold nights and some storms
But snakes, rats and many others will eat young lives
Without any hesitation, guilt, or regret
All the young can do is call helplessly, for protection.

It is the few who survive into adulthood, who mate
Who writes the book of providence
None in the wild fields would think to ask
No, it is kill or be killed, tomorrow isn’t planned
Some are content to feel…

The sweet misted chilled air, just before day break.

Mike

 

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