Do they look in awe and wonder

At the beauty in a tree

Or see the gift of nature

That is the bumblebee.

Take time to stop and listen

To a blackbird or a thrush

Feel stinging of the nettles

As against their bodies brush.

While walking early morning

Hear the rippling of the river

Movement of the native buds

As in the breeze they quiver.

Never hearing that sweet silence

All around them, screaming, yelling

Living in the Centre of

A built up urban dwelling.

J.Poet 7 ( )

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