Will we ever tire of writing
Or expounding upon the theme
Of Nature's relaxing Power
Or the cleansing of Her stream?
(The refreshing winds gusting
And the Sun, so soft and warm
The endless verdant hillsides
Where you're always free from harm)
Will we run short of metaphors
Based upon Nature's calm
And cease to personify
The healing of Her balm?
Or can we learn to merely sigh,
Sit back and just enjoy
And romp through the wilderness
Like a curious little boy?
Copied from my "Darker Blue Notebook".
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