beauty nature
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The leaves of autumn spill and fall.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, its rhythmic sounds.
Early Morning symbolical verses and rotting
leaves that reflects my aching brain.
Oh river spirit,
Whom no other druid can outrank
We watch as you splash the banks.
Your hair flowing in white peaked locks
We feel your joy as you swim with the current and move the rocks.
The wind is sighing through my fur.
Leaves stir under my paws as I test the
Ground for footing.
Prey is stirring as we sit silently waiting.
A howl is heard ringing through the forest.
Isn't it ironic how we cut and kill flowersbecause we think they are beautiful, but cut and kill ourselves because we think we are not?
