richer than emeralds

the qualities of light are what we see
in the lush green that forms a sort of wall
we listen to the avian song and call
and note the brilliant texture of the tree
the mystery which each mind must decree
is not explained by medium at the stall
the luminescence that on each must fall
is not a thing of rank nor of degree
except we ask ourselves the proper sense
of all our lives and what will nature's grace
provide for us against the coming night
the truth is she will make no false pretense
of showing other than her proper face
as much in darkness as now in the light