“A poem is the very image of life expressed in its eternal truth.”
Percy Bysshe Shelley

Monday, May 6, 2013

Gifts

 
An egret glides by.
Enthralled, I watch from above
my gift from nature.

I hear then the news.
Snow has buried the MidWest,
their gift from nature.

Whether hot or cold,
nature’s offerings beguile
a receptive mind.


4 comments:

Muffie said...

And whether hot or cold, our neurological systems act up. I love the mind picture of the egret. I'm wondering, though, how you were above it. Ah, the beautiful, and sometimes devastating events of Nature.
Peace,
Muff

Robert Parker said...

A lovely poem, a very powerful thought.

The rain falls upon the just and the unjust, and the sun shines on the good and bad alike, as the Good Book says. I see a pattern here...

Karen said...

Oh, I'd love to see an egret fly by! The ways of nature are fascinating. A lovely poem Judy.

Judy at Peace Be With You said...

Muff, I was watching from our second-story window as the egret glided toward a landing on the lake. Egrets are truly one of the most beautiful birds, so graceful.

Robert, you discerned precisely the meaning I was trying for in this poem. Nature is impersonal in the “gifts” bestowed. So is this scourge of a disease from which we all suffer.

Karen, an egret in flight is truly a breathtaking sight.