Nature’s Symphony

A young couple saunters through the field of wheat; the

crickets are chirping. The moon casts a romantic white film over everything—while the long wheat sways. Gently. Civilization is nowhere to be seen; the barn and the silo are red and white specks in the distance.

The weeping willow whispers a mournful soliloquy; a crow

pierces the song of night with a shrill cry for his mate. The mimosa trees enhance the darkness with a sweet, sensuous scent…lightening the heads of the two lone lovers.

He sits up against a desolate oak tree and pulls her down to his

side. They listen to the night….. Nature smiles knowingly down upon the two and lists her baton. The starry heavens open, and a multitude of angelic voices sing the song of love. The melody is moving. He takes her face, so smooth and soft in his gentle hands; they search each other’s eyes. “Is this a dream?” they both silently wonder.

He is conscious only of her pale green dress, billowing in the

warm evening wind—her fragrance is that of honeysuckle. Her eyes are like deep caverns, yet curtains to the thoughts within. Moonlight catches her Mona Lisa smile, and it dazzles. A blush rises to her tanned face; she looks away.

She touches his tousled dark hair, his bushy eyebrows look so

threatening…yet she knows better. She is solemn as she studies the line of his stern jaw. With a slender finger she seeks the deep dimple in his chin. They both smile—out of shyness. Nervously. Their eyes are hypnotizing. Butterflies go wild inside of her. His heartbeat quickens. Their breathing has grown more shallow. Irregular.

The willow wails in the warm breeze. The crickets are in

perfect harmony. The wind reaches down and fiercely stirs her curls into a fussy turmoil. The symphony is building…two warm, moist lips meet, search. Seeking to seal, and press with a tender passion. The innocent kiss is noticed by the Nature around them, the orchestra’s melody reaches a feverish pitch and the earth drops out from under the two bewitched lovers. The symphony’s climax has been reached.

Old Devil Moon turns and winks at Mother Nature, and she in

turn, bows to her orchestra.

Return to Poetry Home Page

Site Created by RebelWebMaster