On the occasional mumble of a distant foghorn.
A scarlet macaw settling on the apple bark,
Chirping with the winds in unison;
While the clouds growing pitch dark
Had other plans for the harvested acorn.
The droplets falling on the Ford windshield
Added to the melody of nature;
While the farmer was desperate to cover his yield
On his way to market venture.
Lightning and thunder kept the chorus
To continue till all ceased;
While the horizon was in a rush
To unfold the beauty sun kissed.
Dead beetles, on the tree trunk, not too dry
Yet the lustre is still intact on the trodden leaf
Because beautiful things don't cry
They rather smile as well in grief.