She walks like wind and sings like sunlight,
her laugh tickling the trees with new life.
She dances like slow mist and swift birds in flight,
steps lights as leaf fluttering free of strife.
She is ripe and ready, her bounty heavy on her chest.
Her lips cherry red like apples hanging from an orchard.
She is as fragrant as the vineyard and wholly blest.
But still her fiery touch leaves trees screaming, tortured.
She stumbles and from her tumbles a harvest of freedom fair,
seeds once sown now reaped, she is full of thanks giving.
Each step she take saps strength, a house falling is despair
but even still she is beautiful like a dying sun still living.
She is dying and her hair shine white in the harsh reality,
her steps are ponderous and slow, falling like drifting petals.
Still her tongue is sharp and deadly, slick with duality
dying and deadly, still she sits and silently she settles.
Mother Nature walks the earth like a prancing child and doddering crone,
her seasonal affects affecting the earth and sky that she rests upon.