Dew Drops

Is it a question of love? 

I cannot tell whether clouds feel pity
when the corolla pleas for rain, 
but I have witnessed
how the morning dew
collecting on pink petal tips
becomes an answer to all prayers,
how each tiny drop
rests like a universe
on the precipice. 

Is not this the longing
we awaken to each morning, 
the dream we return to each night? 

Let us come to each other this way, 
a multitude appearing out of the blue, 
to moisten our lips, 
to quench our parched throats
so that we may find our voice, 
turning our muffled pleas
into dew drops of gratitude
given freely to each other.  

Is it a question of love?

I cannot say because we are
as mysterious as the cloud
that comes and goes, 
as the bud that blossoms
and withers away.

© Nick LeForce
All Rights Reserved

Perhaps it is in our psyche to glamorize nature and to imbue it with human sentiment. But nature can kill us as well as bless us. This is what gives it such magical appeal. We thrive by grace in life and we die by the hand of life. The mystery keeps us on our feet and reminds us that we belong to the earth; we depend on the earth; and we are subject to the forces of the earth. To me, this intricate web of the world is enchanting: Flowers pray, clouds weep, and a universe is reflected in the tiny curved surface of a dew drop. I mostly walk through it all oblivious except by virtue of my poetic inclination and for this I am deeply grateful.

How does nature (life, the world) speak to you?

Please share your thoughts and comments below.