Listening to the Leaves (a Pastoral)
/
Sustained by sunlight, gentle rain,
rosebushes grow in my flower garden.
At dusk, when nature’s gentle creatures
find their rest, I listen to the evening breezes’
faint whispering in the foliage and reflect
on all my unfulfilled wishes and rueful entreaties
that had come to naught. But my seemingly
fragile will is resilient like the spider web
that entraps the hapless small prey in my view—
Here, in this nature spot I found my sans souci,
the haven where I feel free of care.
I welcome the morning tranquility that is soon
enhanced by a lark’s cheerful song as she glides
high above the nearby brook that shimmers
in the rising sun’s bright-golden gleam.
Human din and traffic noises do not yet permeate
this peaceful haven as I absorb my early resident
mockingbird’s cheerful repertoire of various
bird songs. High-noon soon passed into the vesper hour;
I hear distant church bells toll. Slowly, darker evening
clouds drift in. Once again I note the night breeze
moving through my rosebushes while nature’s creatures
listen to the faint rustling of the leaves.
