The Season Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

shifting clouds cross this sky,
watching the burning hills, why;
observing nature, in varied colors,
spring, singing of the birds, wonderful;
others placidly listen, to the water's music,
the winds, bring Hayden's 'Kyrie' into a mind;
watching young boys and girls, fly their box kites,
the fountain's cool mist, this pond, one's steamy life;
no need for idle strife, in this place streaming of beauty,
mind filled of thinking's dogmas, freed to make us secure;
truthfulness, to willingly make it pure, in this confused world,
take the epic journey, that one, in which all are profoundly sure;
will provide the cure, the mystery charter, to heal humankind's mind,
pondering, mull this order, and return to the sod, from which each came;
seek to understand, and realize the eternal and awesome mindfulness of god.