Beauty of Nature Poems

If I could take a brush and paint the mountains and the moors,
I would splash the hillsides yellow and cover them in gorse.
I'd take the finest needle and the darkest thread of green
And sew a line of bracken along the landscape. In-between

I'd lay a purple carpet of wild heather in the dells
And fringe the edge of all the woods with their pretty lilac bells.
I'd merge the bracken with the heather, mix their colours like the sea,
A green and purple ocean on my own rich tapestry.

Then I'd take a ball of soft, white wool and stitch a mass of daisy chains
Around the lush green meadows and up the sides of winding lanes.
I would stencil on the marshes, just like pure white china cups,
Some fragile water lilies and by the ponds, sweet buttercups.

I'd mix orange, reds and yellows planting poppies wild and free
Onto nature's coloured canvas, my own rich tapestry.

Sitting to-day in the sunshine
    That touched me with fingers of love,
I thought of the manifold blessings
    God scatters on earth, from above;
And they seemed, as I numbered them over,
    Far more than we merit, or need,
And all that we lack is the angels
    To make earth a heaven indeed.

The winter brings long, pleasant evenings,
    The spring brings a promise of flowers
That summer breathes into fruition;
    And autumn brings glad, golden hours.
The woodlands re-echo with music,
    The moonbeams ensilver the sea;
There is sunlight and beauty about us,
    And the world is as fair as can be.

But mortals are always complaining!
    Each one thinks his own a sad lot,
And forgetting the good things about him,
    Goes mourning for those he has not.
Instead of the star-spangled heavens,
    We look on the dust at our feet;
We drain out the cup that is bitter,
    Forgetting the one that is sweet.

We mourn o'er the thorn in the flower,
    Forgetting its odor and bloom;
We pass by a garden of blossoms,
    To weep o'er the dust of the tomb.
There are blessings unnumbered about us--
    Like the leaves of the forest they grow;
And the fault is our own--not the Giver's--
    That we have not Eden below.

Can there be anything more lovely
Than the beauty of a tree?
Her leaves shimmering in the wind,
Dancing so gracefully.

The strength of her mighty roots
That grows deep into the earth.
She's weathered every stormy gale
For all that she is worth.

Standing tall, resilient
With her branches lifted high,
She refused to bow, to break or bend
But reaches upward to the sky.

The beauty of the strength within
As she held her head up high.
Her strong resilient spirit
Grew wings and learned to fly.

A dark gloomy sunless start
Cold and calculating
Frost on the windows
Icy streets
Snow on the ground
Hot chocolate to be made
Another Winter day

Sun coming over the horizon
Birds singing at dawn's first light
Green grass dusted with morning dew
Mowers mowing
Flowers blooming
Warm rain hitting the streets
Another Spring day

School's out, kids at home
Swimming pools swarming
Air-conditioners humming
Backyard barbecues
Hot sleepless nights
Fireflies flying
Another Summer day

Leaves changing colors
Back to school night
Leaf blowers
A new brisk chill to the air
Apple cider to keep warm
Halloween
Another Autumn day

The world outside is a wondrous place,
Filled with many miracles to see.
It's a place to hear and smell and feel.
It's a place so unfettered and free.

From the welcome warmth of the morning sun,
As it plays upon your eyes,
Enticing you from your slumber
To awaken and come alive.

Or the gentle touch of an Autumn breeze,
As it chills and caresses your face,
Beckoning you to start your day
And let go of the night's embrace.

The sound of the birds as they twitter and sing,
Still nestled in the warmth of the trees.
Soon they will lift their wings in flight,
Shooed away by the fluttering leaves.

To smell that earthy, Autumn air,
As you step outside and breathe.
To hear that steady, familiar crunch,
As you wade through the dried, dead leaves.

To look up and get lost in a ceiling-less sky,
Deep blue or an ominous grey.
Squinting against the brightest of suns,
Or getting soaked by a sudden, cold rain.

To feel beads of sweat on your clammy face,
In the heat of a blistering day.
Then submerge in a river that seeps through your skin,
Dousing the fire in your veins.

To trudge through the deepest, blistering snow,
As the ice stings your rosy red cheeks.
To smell all the fireplaces burning,
As those faint of heart retreat.

To see your breath float on the air,
As your toes and fingers freeze.
And witness an icy, white blanket of snow,
Just as far as you can see.

The snowflakes falling harder now,
The earth is in a blur.
Your clothes feel damp and heavier,
Your speech begins to slur.

Yes, the outside is a wondrous place,
A world of beauty and brawn.
It's independent but so reliable.
It's vulnerable and yet so strong.

Remember the smell of the summer flowers,
With bright colors all around?
Deep green lawns and the aroma of grass,
Trees plush with leaves abound.

The ocean's glistening, thundering waves,
The gritty, infinite sands.
The forests of trees that reach up to the sky,
The mountains that tower over the land.

The outside world is an endless place.
It shows us how small we can be.
It can nurture and comfort our troubled hearts.
It can grant us sweet moments of peace. 

If you take the time to really see,
The outside is a glorious place.
And how lucky we are that this Paradise,
Is only a few steps away.

Sultry sun on fields and bay,
quiet calm engulfs the day.

Faint troubled rumblings in the sky
foretells a mighty storm is nigh.

Feathered fowl that glide the breeze
quickly fly to nest in trees.

A silent sense of darkness fell,
as clouds began to twirl and swell.

A yellow haze of green and gray
replaces sun and heat of day.

Thunderous cannons roar the sky
with veins of light that pierce the eye.

The day has darkened into night
as Thor and Zeus pursue their might!

Raging winds that bend and sway,
tearing limbs along the way.

Bursting clouds of icy hail;
Nature's sting is quite surreal!

The faded rumblings start to slow,
and sultry sun peaks out to glow, 

Mighty Tempest, come and gone.
Ancient storm gods carry on,
leaving rainbows in the dawn!

O gift of God! O perfect day:
Whereon shall no man work, but play;
Whereon it is enough for me,
Not to be doing, but to be!

Through every fibre of my brain,
Through every nerve, through every vein,
I feel the electric thrill, the touch
Of life, that seems almost too much.

I hear the wind among the trees
Playing celestial symphonies;
I see the branches downward bent,
Like keys of some great instrument.

And over me unrolls on high
The splendid scenery of the sky,
Where though a sapphire sea the sun
Sails like a golden galleon,

Towards yonder cloud-land in the West,
Towards yonder Islands of the Blest,
Whose steep sierra far uplifts
Its craggy summits white with drifts.

Blow, winds! and waft through all the rooms
The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms!
Blow, winds! and bend within my reach
The fiery blossoms of the peach!

O Life and Love! O happy throng
Of thoughts, whose only speech is song!
O heart of man! canst thou not be
Blithe as the air is, and as free?

I came to the mountains for beauty
And I find here the toiling folk,
On sparse little farms in the valleys,
Wearing their days like a yoke.

White clouds fill the valleys at morning,
They are round as great billows at sea,
And roll themselves up to the hill-tops
Still round as great billows can be.

The mists fill the valleys at evening,
They are blue as the smoke in the fall,
And spread all the hills with a tenuous scarf
That touches the hills not at all.

These lone folk have looked on them daily,
Yet I see in their faces no light.
Oh, how can I show them the mountains
That are round them by day and by night?

A crisp, cool autumn evening,
Stars fill the night up high.
God, the great creator,
Decking out the sky.

A garden lit by the moonlight,
A rose kissed by His hand.
The beauty He created,
Even the smallest pieces of sand.

Petals of the roses
Glisten in the night.
The Master of creation,
His colors are pure delight.

From void He created beauty,
From dark He created light.
The Master of creation,
And to man He gave them life.