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In Bloom
Induced whispers ushered to the wind,
by the devotion of a nearby field,
secretively planting its seed with no hesitation,
The winter had been brutal and frigged,
Trust me, it says in its imperfect manner,
with a shrug of a muddy path, it found laughter,
The obscured field swayed as it sang,
anticipating the end of its loneliness,
after all, spring winds are innocent.
But the bees know all too well the cost,
soon thunder is heard as the rain squanders nothing,
within weeks, the soil tells the field, it has birthed dawn.
Silence haunts the field now, as the early spring wind left,
no one will look on the glory of the new growth in theory,
just when all seems lost a strange lunatic suffers to work the earth.
For the wind that defiled the fairest field in all the land,
he nurtures the soil and sings to the field in sun and rain,
to reap the harvest as the cycle begins anew again.
