As dawn approaches

and sunlight falls on the door,

the mist from the nights rainfall coats the window,

carrying the pleasant smell of petrichor.

Eyes still closed, rising out of bed,

while singing song birds cascade my tired head.

The symphony of whistles and chirps,

a melody like angels playing,

equipped with trumpets and harps.

A doe stands quietly outside my window,

sipping the dew from stems of green grass,

watched behind a sheet of stained glass.

What makes nature so beautiful?

Perhaps the giant hidden inside an acorn,

or the growth, after a disastrous rainstorm.

A green child rises with the sun,

spreading his arms to take in the warmth.

He sips the water from the earth,

and welcomes his new birth.

From seed to mighty oak,

Small and replaceable to unique and baroque.

A new recruit,

to a glorious group.

In the ground he lays his roots.

Similar to the rest,

Yet holding a distinctive crest,

until the day he is laid to rest.

An old giant falls to the ground,

and a new seed is crowned.

The cycle begins anew,

and so the world continues.

Nature remains dutiful,

that is what makes it so beautiful.