My Only Muse

My muse is only nature.

Thousand times I write about her

But it is less

Because her beauty,

I cannot elucidate 

In trifling thousand verses.

From dusk till dawn, I watch

The playful orange star

Hiding and seeking

In this vast blue field

With its white cotton-like friends.

I see flowers blooming,

Lovely lilies, lilacs, lavenders;

Purple, matching my blue.

Busy bees and butterflies hovering above them;

The grass dancing

In this prepossessing meadow,

Where the calming east wind blows.

Robust trees on sturdy mountains 

But kind and wise.

I sleep beneath them

Because I am beneath them.

This silent river

Reflecting the moon’s gleam

And of the tiny dots of glitter

In the blanket of darkness; they coruscate

As reminders of light.

Waterfalls and rainbows,

A truly magical sight.

A fairyland. A heaven. 

A place with no worries,

Just love and beauty exist.

Time slows down here.

She never ceases to bewilder

My mere mortal existence.

She whispers in my ear

To listen closely

To the warbling birds,

To the babbling brook,

To the murmuring leaves.

She tells me

To not just look and hear

But to see and listen;

To become one with her.

And that is what I would do,

Engulf myself and disappear

In my muse.