Standing with a crooked outlook,
Before me was Mother Nature's gift.
Slender or wide, brown or white arches,
Red, white and blue kisses in the grass.
Spring, Summer, Winter or Fall,
Our sacred Mother didn't care at all.
Other's joined in my widely stare,
She was a creator of the best artwork.
For she made homes for all her friends,
Small or large, awkward or beautiful,
This creator doesn't think harsh like us.
So everyone who is anyone beside me.
Why do we use only one of our senses?
What about hearing someone's magic?
What about feeling their miserable pain?
What about tasting their foul anguish?
What about smelling their hard work created?
Mother Nature could why can't we?
