Silent Serenade

The world is a beehive, buzzing with activity,

Each soul chases the wealth imprisoned in the earth,

Ever-searching, ever-digging and ever-insatiable,

They never stop to hear nature sing her

silent serenade.

Of all the gold and silver,

The diamonds and jewels that we lust,

None is more precious,

Nor more valuable,

Than the greatest treasure no man has seen,

Intangible and vague but could be heard: nature’s silent serenade.

Quietly she sings through time,

The song was for all,

The beauty held in all its words,

Solemn, yet merry; peaceful, yet provoking; modest, yet majestic.

The rise of man has broken its spell,

Its power withdraws, and for a time, none can hear it.

The music it weaved,

The hearts it charmed,

were lost.

However, nature still sings it, though none now cares to hear.

As I sit here,

Beneath the willow tree, atop a low hill,

The sun sets, the sky is opaque,

The water in the lake is still,

The trees rise and haunt, filtering the remaining light and casting an eerie glow,

I think I can hear,

Nature calling to me and her patient audience below, in the moment of twilight;

Singing in a surreal and enchanting voice,

Unveiling the magic of the moment, when man and nature meet eye to eye,

The tunes so delicate and fragile, none dare break,

The evergreen music of its

Silent serenade.