Mother Nature
	When I listen to the birds sing,					When the pitter-patter of rain
	I try to really hear.					Beats upon the window sill,
	It is not shrill whistles and squawks,					With all its fresh cleansing,
	It is something really dear.					It gives me a thrill.
	As the butterflies flit to and fro,					When the sun rises in the morning;
	I watch in glee,					A large golden orb,
	With all their grace and style,					Its beauty and warmth
	I try to really see.					I eagerly absorb.
	As the frogs croak in the pond					When I look at the mighty oak
	And the crickets loudly sing,					Bending in the wind,
	I listen for the symphony					I try to think of him
	And try to see the king.					As a real friend.
	As the squirrel scampers up the tree,					With all the grace and charm
	With a acorn in his mouth,					In everything so beautiful and pure,
	I watch the formation of geese					It is all a manifestation
	As they fly south.					Of Mother Nature.
								Ivan