A couple of Nature Poems to help you decide:
The simmering blanket of heat, off the tops of waves
Will lead way to a stiff breeze that'll lift the haze
As it makes its way to land, brushing past the shores
Made both of sand, and of fragile yet resilient human souls
The mountains stand watch in the distance, looming ever tall
Above our transitory troubles, the crosses borne by us all
And as we ponder over our sorrows, ignoring how well we fare
The sky turns bluer, the grass a lighter green
With a divine splendour only Nature can wear
The trees stand unbowed in the face of the noonday sun
And yet let the breaths of the Earth caress their leaves
Come sundown, they blaze bright hues of green and gold
Giving man a pause, to watch true beauty unfold
The skies turn from blue to gold to a deep dark realm
Stretching into infinity, in a manner meant to overwhelm
And as the universe conspires to show us our true roots
We have no choice but, for a fleeting moment, to forgo our trivial pursuits
In view of something so serene, and yet so spectacular
The leaves fall, the days grow short, we keep up with our trials
But Autumn remains our kind lover, in whose arms we can rest a while
For the moments spent in her embrace, our little measure of breathing space
Takes away the weight from our hearts, stripped of fears, to a distant place
And we wait as we do, for something better, with a hope that is renewed
If life were but the blink of an eye, this season's the sight worth seeing
Filling us as it does with its measure of peace, the music of our being
The days will pass into Winter's dark until the next breath of spring
And yet Autumn is and will remain, the season of our dreams.
Meet the Poet:
Parthajeet Sarmah is a criminal at large, and has been accused of Excessive Verbiage and Overreaching Formulation of Half-Baked Ideas. When he is not evading the grammar police, he works as a freelance writer, a business operator, and an unregistered priest of the Temple of Later-Day Procrastinators. If this bio has entertained you enough to seek out his writing abilities (of which there is surprisingly plenty) for professional or other purposes, he can be reached on email@example.com.
Autumn is a Poem.
For lately, there's been something about the way the birds sing:
Melodiously wisp, the Oriental Magpie Robin is seen dancing, flicking its tail, singing that yin-yang repartee;
The Drongo mimicking, as it flies around whistling, artistically flickering that signature tail;
Even the mynahs are visibly extra chirrupy, out-running sparrows, who after half a year-long charade are readying for their winter retirement;
And the sun is finally enjoying itself as opposed to burning out or paling on a winter's day.
While the flowers are satiated, their blooming quota full until next spring, through winter pensively.
The rain is finally off, probably chilling in aligned weather -
And so the sky trends a shade of fresh blue, no painter has ever covered.
Calling the wanderlings home, back from their travels;
Birdsongs saturating skies with their tales of yonder;
Making this sub-tropical Autumn glisten rather -
Such that poetry echoes in every fiber of Nature's seasonal being.