Song of the Living Earth
(A Poem in 200 Lines)
The morning wakes with a silver breath,
Mist rising soft from the meadow’s depth.
A robin sings from an old oak’s arm,
The world begins in a hush of calm.
The river murmurs its timeless song,
Stones listening where it runs along.
Dewdrops glisten on blades of green,
Like tiny lanterns with hidden sheen.
Mountains wear crowns of snowy white,
Holding the sky in their patient height.
Clouds drift slowly across the blue,
Whispering secrets the hawks once knew.
The sun climbs higher, a golden flame,
Calling the day by its gentle name.
Meadows open with fragrant cheer,
Blossoms awake when the light is near.
The bee hums low in the fragrant air,
A pilgrim visiting everywhere.
Its wings are prayers, its path a hymn,
Written in flight, so soft, so slim.
The forest hums with a secret tone,
Where roots converse in the understone.
Shadows stretch like a painter’s hand,
Sketching stories upon the land.
The fox moves sly through the emerald maze,
Eyes like lanterns in morning haze.
The hare bounds quick through a field of gold,
A tale of freedom both shy and bold.
Rivers widen, their voices grow,
Carrying songs to the seas below.
Fishes shimmer in liquid glass,
Fleeting jewels as they swiftly pass.
The eagle wheels in a grand design,
Drawn on the canvas of air so fine.
Its shadow grazes the earth below,
A fleeting gift in the sunlight’s glow.
The meadow sings with the cricket’s bow,
A hidden orchestra soft and low.
Flowers nod to the gentle breeze,
Petals afloat like wandering seas.
The farmer’s field is a patchwork quilt,
Stitched by labor, by sweat, by guilt.
Yet in its heart, the green still thrives,
The soil remembers our fragile lives.
Noon arrives with a blazing heat,
Shadows curl where the grasses meet.
Cicadas cry with a steady chant,
The earth exhales what the heavens grant.
A single tree in the meadow stands,
Holding the wind in its leafy hands.
Beneath its arms, the cattle rest,
Peaceful hearts in the day’s behest.
The sea awakens with foaming roar,
Waves unrolling upon the shore.
Each crest a tale of a distant place,
Carried across with a salt-kissed grace.
Seashells scatter like whispered dreams,
Left behind by forgotten streams.
Children gather them by the sand,
Holding oceans within their hand.
The gull wheels high with a piercing cry,
Carving circles against the sky.
The lighthouse keeps its steady flame,
Guarding sailors who call its name.
Coral gardens beneath the deep,
Where silent mysteries drift and sleep.
Creatures glowing in colors rare,
Writing poems in liquid air.
Back on land, the winds now shift,
Clouds like vessels begin to drift.
Rain descends with a gentle fall,
A blessing whispered to one and all.
Leaves are painted with silver beads,
Streams revived for the farmer’s needs.
Children laugh in the rain’s embrace,
Nature’s joy on a tender face.
The storm may roar with its thunder’s might,
Yet even darkness is full of light.
Lightning scribbles across the skies,
Bold declarations the storm implies.
Then silence falls with a softened hand,
A rainbow arches above the land.
Its seven colors, a bridge of peace,
A covenant sung when storms release.
Evening creeps with a velvet hue,
Shadows lengthen, the day is through.
Birds fly home to their hidden nest,
Each feather folded in quiet rest.
The western sky burns red with fire,
Painting the world with last desire.
The crickets rise with their steady song,
Nighttime’s choir to which they belong.
The owl awakens with amber eyes,
A keeper of secrets, old and wise.
Its wings are silent, its flight a ghost,
Guarding the woods it loves the most.
Stars appear on the canvas dark,
A thousand lanterns, a million spark.
The moon ascends with a silver crown,
Smiling gently on earth below.
Rivers shimmer in lunar glow,
Carrying night where the dreamers go.
Wolves now sing to the silent skies,
Their howls a hymn where mystery lies.
The village sleeps in the tender night,
Candles fading from every light.
Yet in the forest, the stories stay,
Life unending in hidden play.
Seasons turn with a patient hand,
Writing chapters across the land.
Winter whispers with frosty breath,
Wrapping the trees in a silken death.
Snowflakes fall in a dance so free,
Blankets woven in purity.
Yet under ice, the seed still sleeps,
Holding the promise the springtime keeps.
Spring awakes with a tender call,
Blossoms burst from the garden wall.
Rivers swell with the thawing snow,
Life returning in steady flow.
Summer sings with a golden fire,
Days of labor and sweet desire.
Fields are crowned with a harvest bright,
Days unending, yet full of light.
Autumn comes with a painter’s brush,
Coloring trees in a fiery blush.
Leaves descend like a parting song,
Drifting gently, then gone along.
Through every cycle, the earth is wise,
Holding the truth in its patient eyes.
That life must turn, and death must fade,
To nourish the soil where dreams are laid.
The mountain waits in eternal calm,
Chanting hymns like a sacred psalm.
The river runs with a poet’s tongue,
Singing of places where we belong.
The stars remind us we’re not alone,
Threads of light where our souls are sewn.
The earth beneath is a mother’s hand,
Cradling all in her ancient land.
The wind that whispers through endless skies,
Tells us the world is both vast and wise.
The fire that burns in a sunset’s flame,
Is but the echo of where we came.
The rain that falls is the world’s own tears,
Washing the dust of forgotten years.
The soil that clings to a farmer’s hand,
Is love eternal for mortal land.
The bird that flies with a song so true,
Is nature’s promise of life anew.
The seed that hides in the winter’s deep,
Is hope that dreams in the earth asleep.
The ocean’s roar is a timeless hymn,
Endless, eternal, vast and dim.
The wave that breaks on a lonely shore,
Is both beginning and yet much more.
The dawn that rises, the dusk that falls,
Nature’s voice through the ages calls.
The seasons turning, the rivers wide,
The earth forever, our home, our guide.
Children laugh in the meadow’s breeze,
Chasing butterflies with gentle ease.
Elders sit with a knowing gaze,
Remembering youth in the summer days.
Lovers walk where the blossoms grow,
Leaving footprints where rivers flow.
Their whispered vows are the evening air,
Nature listening, always there.
Poets linger in forest deep,
Gathering words the shadows keep.
Their verses born from the earth’s own song,
Written in silence, pure and strong.
Painters gaze at the ocean wide,
Finding colors no brush can hide.
They dip their hands in the twilight’s flame,
Capturing whispers none can name.
Dreamers sleep beneath the stars,
Their souls released from earthly bars.
They wander skies in the moon’s embrace,
Meeting eternity face to face.
And when at last, our days are done,
We’ll rest beneath both moon and sun.
Our bones the soil, our breath the air,
Our spirit woven in everywhere.
For we are not apart, but whole,
Nature the body, and we the soul.
The tree, the mountain, the star, the sea,
All are mirrors of what we be.
So let us walk with a humble tread,
Thankful for life, for the paths we’ve led.
For earth is temple, and sky is dome,
And nature holds us, our only home.
The song continues, it never ends,
Through countless cycles the spirit bends.
Each dawn a birth, each dusk a rest,
The earth forever, the gentle guest.
So sing with rivers, with winds, with flame,
Remember the world that called your name.
For nature is truth, both vast and small,
The greatest poem, that holds us all.
