My melodious bulbs,
that spring in Mother Nature's melody,
your petals, indifferent to the next one over,
as if you were the phalanx working against the Persians,
at the Battle of Marathon.
The way the leaves always sprout,
from my tree I had always referred to as "Hank,"
as he bleeds out glistening vermilion buds,
to only release emerald plains, to expose to the world, to become a source,
of both food, and shelter.
My shelter of the world,
how the branches curl themselves around the sunlight,
as forming a dome over my head,
keeping me safe from all that is
crime
blood
offense
war
sickness
death
complexities
torture
I enjoy to watch the animals live,
as the birds soar into the sky,
singing their songs in unison.
The rabbits in the field, feeding upon the lilies and grass,
oh look, there resides a wild ferret,
and a non-domestic fox,
and soon the scene becomes bleak,
covered in flies and vulture shadows,
as the children lash out in the scene,
remaining fighters brawl for the corpses.
mother nature is happy.