Tribulation

In the early dawn, All is quiet and calm. Tis mid April, And all is tranquil. The dew is on the grass. Not can be found, Even an ounce of crass. The sun is rising, The birds are flying. All is tranquil in this mid April. Up the road a storm is brewing. Hopes and dreams, it be pursuing. Moving faster and faster, The storm grows near. The birds flying and chirping, You can no longer hear. All life as we know it, has packed up and gone. Except for a small, young little fawn. For it knows no better, Than mother natures snare. Tis trickery at it's finest. No kindness, No care. Nature is nature, Not much can be done, except to wait for the warmth, of the early May sun.