This little light of mine
why don’t you make it shine
shower some love and tenderness
show how the days may be spent
how the season turn from green to gold
and ice melts from higher peaks down rivers rich
and the green ruptures pastures dry
in the field of life
where you and I wait for spring.
Peculiarly it seemed
the seasons forgot to turn
the trees stood bewildered
shaking there branches and twigs
watching, waiting for their leaves to fall
the flowers turned their petals out
reaching towards the sun
astounded they did not wilt, nor lose there scent
the birds chirped excited, turning their heads to the horizon
what in the world was happening here
the rivers swelled and gurgled along
nourishing the soil they touched
and instead of frost, pollen fled and floated
streaming down onto the land,
birds and bees and all that’s there looked on
all their heads turned
they watched in silent inquisitive
as the sun lingered on
and the white cotton clouds rolled on.
The trees shook their branches.
Why had the seasons stopped and forgot to turn?
Peculiar it seemed, though life moved on.
As seasons come and seasons go,
though days turn from weeks, years and more,
that burnt sun rises and that burnt sun sets,
and even as the blue seas swell at times towards the heavens and kiss the sky,
it would all mean nothing,
all the beauty striped and taken,
all these seasons visit for nothing,
if man hadn’t the voice, eyes, and touch to validate,
the beauty that always was and shall ever be.