
Never turns its back—
nature—unlike mere humans;
if she does, all ends.

Never turns its back—
nature—unlike mere humans;
if she does, all ends.

Mind of a human,
bit rusty on the outside—
like nature herself.

Scarred, marred, and dented—
as life is sometimes—nature
unfathomable.

In tiny pockets,
lies the opportunity,
to bloom, as nature.

Everywhere I turn,
as long as the eye can see—
chasing blues, the green.