It is the simplicity,

And beauty of nature,

That brings me peace. …

Dried wood,

Drying grass.

It’s an arid day, …

In unexpected,

Quiet corners of the land,

Dwell poet farmers, …

Love does come,

In different shades,

And colors. …

Now that age,

Has slowly erased,

Youthful freshness, …

To get old,

Rust,

Then break, …

Even rabbits,

Can overindulge,

And wake up, …

Proud and tall,

I will stand.

Despite the rust, …

It’s simple,

Obvious,

And annoyingly frustrating, …

It is your softness,

That I’m grateful for,

As days pass by. …

To dangle from a tree,

Beside flowers,

Smiling and free. …

Life would be easier,

If I were taught,

Not to fight, …

How often I’ve shunned,

Opening that door,

Letting memories and dreams, …

Ruggedly constructed,

With iron and steel.

Unlike my memory, …

One day,

The snows on me,

Too will melt, …

Covered and dormant,

In a snowy grey.

Like cold dreams, …

So many things,

Are now unclear,

Yet familiar, …

To wear wrinkles,

Openly without a care,

Is beautiful. …

On grey,

Listless days,

It is the spice of life, …

When covered in snow,

I close my eyes,

Feel the cold, …