The sun doesn't apologize for shining.
The rain doesn't apologize for falling.
The birds don't apologize for singing.
The trees don't apologize for growing.

You don't need to apologize for being.

~~~
"But I’ll know my song well
before I start singin’"

Bob Dylan
"A Hard Rain A-Gonna Fall"
~~~
thought this poem down years ago,
while hiking in a nature preserve,
never wrote it up,
never knew why

I'm a
top-of-lungs shower singer,
a hiking poet,
dripping italicized words from the
four corners of mine eyes

my voice,
*****,
my song,
a work in progress,
my brain, says,
challenge,
asking

how dare you sing words,
you know
that I know,
don't know your song well,
well enough,
to start singin'?

the flowers and the fauna,
sea grass, lagoon, deep forest cover, beach,
butterflies hiding in bamboo stalks,
the deer, the fox, the chipmunks

all start laughing at me

"look upon us,
a single preserve
is our shelter,
a thousand years in the making,
our song has hardly begun
we are a forever
work-in-progress,
just like you

so sing of us, sing of you,
learn the chords as you go along,
finger the word notes,
try out variations,
realize this unfixed change,
is all of us
preserving

that friend
is indeed,
your song

you know it
well enough,
that's why
you have
never stopped tryin' and never stopped
singin'
~~~

July 2012 ~ 2015
Mashomack Preserve|The Nature Conservancy,
Shelter Island, N.Y.












    






~~~

http://www.bobdylan.com/us/songs/hard-rains-gonna-fall#ixzz3gFdhKEW1

Spring sings as do the birds, high in the tall trees;
Spring knits fluffy white clouds, laying them in the blue sky gingerly;
Spring plants the seeds of the delicate flowers,
And when she’s sad, Spring’s tears water her trees.

Spring’s dazzling smile brings the radiant sun after showers,
Makes skies burst with vibrant colours;
Wanting to feel the crisp air of the morning,
Watch the dew on the flowers.

Spring places golden daffodil flower crowns in her hazel hair;
Spring’s voice is sweet honey, dripping from the hive;
Dancing in light meadows, frolicking in the forest, swimming in the river;
Spring spins the smooth silk of the clear lake water,
Rippling as the frogs leap from lilypad to lilypad.

Dining on the sweet apples and berries of her green trees,
The fresh oranges and strawberries;
Friends with the robins and butterflies,
Squirrels and deer, blue jays and swans.

Leaves every year,
Only to be back again for three months;
Taking the torch from Winter;
Making way for Summer, and Autumn;
Watching as they make their way,
And thrive, in their own moment;
An endless cycle, bound to Time.