I can hear the urgent voices
Of the rustling summer leaves,
As they flutter, tossed and battered
By the violent-tempered breeze.
I can feel the gentle tickle
Of the blades of August grass,
As they bow in sheer surrender
While the lovers’ footsteps pass.
I can see the playful quiver
Of the movement on the river,
And I smell the coming rhythm of the rain.

I can hear the forest breathing
In a dry and brittle beat,
As it echoes back the crackle
Of the twigs beneath my feet.
I can feel the sun’s caresses
Underneath the chilling breeze,
As it filters through the branches
Of the towering chestnut trees.
I can see the fading gleam
On the gently flowing stream,
And I feel the coming rhythm of the rain.

I can hear the gurgling water,
As the waves in ardent fashion
Lick the pebbles at the shoreline
With their seething bursts of passion.
And I feel the icy shivers
In the cold and halting way
That the breath upon the water
Carries in the salty spray.
I can see the rippling motion
Of the waves upon the ocean,
As I’m showered by the rhythm of the rain.


copyright (c) JMStevens, 2002