Sun sat down,
and, cried one day
as it looked down below.
Wind sharp shooting anything in way,
leaves twirling in lost daze
barren clouds wearing long face
here to be turned on, or off.
Earth, as humble on fallen knees
sometimes, the drone of rickety
laughter takes for granted
the strength of shade, gets a bit much
knowing doings of long standings
proud and tall
in nature's summit is good.
The shovel of life leaving sweat
on paralyzed ash
hoping something new and better
will take hold,
and follow in this politically
correct kingdom of our first,
and last breath.