In life’s tremulous turmoil

The fears, the woes, the toil

The world becomes a hastened place

Its beauty not looking in the face

The flowers just things in the soil.

So easy to forget

Its beauty not felt yet

But is ever there to know

With love, with hope, to not let go

If it is possible to get.

Perhaps these things are lost

This is what life has cost.

In years to come it won’t be here

Like it was when we felt it dear

Because such values now are tossed.

This, a fine creation

Leaves nothing to hasten

Provides a home for things to live

Such time we find we have to give

And yield not to such temptation.

Man has few things to fear

As he looks on to sneer

Why spoil a beauty so divine

With pleasure ripe, and smells so fine,

When all this is already here.

18/6/90