From A Young Man's Window Poem by Ted Blue

The grass of the earth is always ever-green,
regardless of the many seasons in-between.
Leaves may float with a flutter from the trees,
but bare, without occupants, they will never be.
Morning chirping from the loquacious, song-full birds,
can-and will always-be punctually heard.
Crickets' pitched, intermittent and abstruse chatter,
emanate rythmatically from sleek legs all a clatter.
Accommodating temperatures will be forever met,
so please refrain from needless fret.
Comfortable in any apparel you may contently remain,
because Hyperion's rays are full-heat they contain.
Azure skies are stretched on the canvas above,
but disturbed sometimes from clouds thereof.
Creation's tears may fall with a clamorous thud,
but don't fear-they mean only to nurture the flowering bud.
Nature's miniature miscreant-the squirrel-runs high along the wires,
he seems as if his small-built frame never tires.
Katydids flourish-rummaging vegetation with gluttony,
only to take their leave with autumn routinely.
The ocean's broad horizon, stretched before, you may forever see,
filling to brim, your soul with excessive glee.
Swift, glittering waves will continuously roll one after another,
leaving beholders mesmerized-to return with an other.
Now, look high above to Florida's flagstaff waving,
and come meet its citizenry, brace its scenery, bravingly.