A tree, stands alone  in the misty, interior forest,
frozen, bark to the core,agitated, in the blizzard and gale
only embrace mother nature now blesses him with,
yet  full of hope and all ears  for something,humming, then-
comes alive suddenly as if a new season of efflorescence
has begun, a cycle of youth,gentle love of butterflies.
A haunting note of wafting music, wakes up the soul
the sky high tree has already forgotten, is rising above the din
booming, sonorous from the deeper part of cosmos.
The tree listens and a transformation begins in every
small root, tiny leaf and allover, the tree left in the
heart of the forest to the mercy of forces is, you know who
the music that enlivens me once again is you my love.

I'm firing a canon in D.
D for dastardly lullaby.
I dare not the tale
of the other six fails.
My pipes will wail
in the seventh sea's gale,
I search for the white whale.

Initiative is as necessary
As a bird that must rely
Upon its natural wings for it
To take off and to fly
A ship equipped with power
To withstand the frightening gale
Would bear no earthly purpose if
It ventures not to sail.
Forests would, indeed, decay
If these do not retain
Moisture from clouds that bring
Growth-sustaining rain.
A poet would be sore-beguiled
If he should sadly lose
Interest in the spirit of
His own creative Muse.
So is ones talent for success
By which one tries to live,
And could be only realized
Through sheer initiative.