The spirit of nature

Twisting through branches of ancient magic,

With very obvious haste,

Fates of the land both good and tragic,

With little time to waste.

Spreading a carpet of lush, fresh green,

Working hour on hour.

Now spring is ready for the world to be seen,

In the shape of many a beautiful flower.

It exists as a tree, a lake, a flower bud,

Dancing through moonlit fields,

Striving no matter fire or flood,

Because of the power of the universe it wields.

Diving in the deep, blue seas,

It is peaceful yet wild.

It flies through the endless trees,

The sun its father and the moon its child.

Yet nature will not be there at the end of the day,

When pollution breathes fog black.

Because it will eventually go away and it won't ever come back.