Those stunning sunrises, the perfect wake up calls.
The chirping birds, a song on their lips.
The lingering echoes of a cuckoo’s call,
That behold and then, melt the hearts.
The fragrant flowers,
Their incense wide and far.
And the little shards, those thorns that guard,
These priceless works of art.
The bees that buzz, busy in their fuss,
Not a moment to spare, to stand and stare.
The endless patience in the hearth,
To stay, to survive – to be like The Mother Earth.
The great blue expanse overhead,
Vast and immense, its arms widespread.
The golden flames that light the path,
The lamps that are lit to fight the dark.
The winding rivers, ever moving forth,
Finding way, cutting through rocks.
The twirling autumn heralding the springs,
From the rusted leaves to the green beginnings.
The little moon not to be cast aside,
Growing and dying - the bitter truth of life.
For the victory visits the hearts that brave,
All odds despite the dangers grave.
Linking up with Trifecta : Week Fifty-Eight : Prompt - Survive