michael andrew

Melting snow runs down from high peaks, into creeks,
over flowing waters, carry off layers of the forest floor,
nutrients, twigs, leafs and insects are all swept clean,
little creeks bulge into violent streams, and mighty rivers
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Behind the barn house,
a rain cloud sends its dowse,
right on a pair of sage grouse,
they scurry off from weathers rouse,
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He holds no throne this king
no realm to reign nor a crown
to wear, or a queen to love
no loyal subjects to tax
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Thousands of brave troops shouting out battle cries
storming the beach in swarms like and army of wasps
with razor-sharp steel bayonets lounging, and thrusting,
piercing young men's dream of love, for the earth
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Behind the manor house,
a gray slate walkway,
edged with pink lady slippers,
walks you to a sunny sunflower garden,
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walking along the worldly gardens paths,
rain drops ushering in refreshing life, giving flowery baths,
exposing colors, of inspiring oaths,
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