For Keats

The poetry of earth is alive and well With all the song birds in wood or dell Chirping their orchestral music loud, Flitting from branch to branch proud. From the earth the worms do pass And slither between blades of grass, They take the lead in their quest To see who can travel the furthest. They suffer the warm sun and dry day In their journey they may lose their way. Only to be eaten by the birds from the air Seen swooping down with devil may care. The poetry of earth is alive and well Natures sweet story to share and tell.