Nature Poetry
We can run out of words but not meanings,
We can run out of thoughts but not our feelings.
This nautical of a world enclosed in debris,
Longing for a pristine,
then all be glee.
A floweret in a Garth is
a jewel in the crown,
For the bees cherish it more than we,
This dismay! We must adown.
We must cease dispatch of the fauna,
We're causing the chaste souls to evoke trauma.
This boon of chronicles has enlightened us plenty,No less than a windfall is a book so friendly.
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