Simple things that come to light
Like fireflies dancing in the night
Rheumatoid fingers of the great oak
Gnarled with time that gently poke
The mist of fog upon the land
The common grounds of God and man
Pondering on this nature trail
Words that come and never pale
Beauty in a peaceful marsh
Wrapped in arms that gently wash
City smut from lids left heavy
Feet that step with pads to levy
Wages free with no pretext
Peace and quiet...none to vex
Imaginings that come and go
Take it in and out it flows
Breaths are pure
On these moist grounds
Crickets kiss their legs for sound
Ghost of the woman and hair of moss
Draping in grays with nothing the cost
To witness this canvas of nature sublime
Before it is lost from wages of time.