Five Odes to Nature.

The hills were alive
with so much music that I
went to Death Valley.

Nature's harmony
is harsh. Even ice must die
for brooks to babble.

When the lovebird sings,
I know that soon I will have
to face the music.

Soprano wind and
thunder bass crescendo the
storm's grand opera.

"I'll come back," soloed
the dancing stream. "You always
do," chorused the trees.