A song to sing..

There’s poetry in nature.

There’s a simile hiding behind a tree, a metaphor yearning to be free.
There’s an onomatopoeia right beyond the green;
 a crackle of a twig, the rustling of leaves.

There’s a rhyme in every flower, a sonnet waiting to be heard.
An alluring alliteration acquaint able and askew.

Drenched in a rhythm, almost a waltz in submission;
A denouement, much more an exposition. 

Tried to give you summer, but i'm winter.