So driven by the need to get things done
That minutes of the day like lightning pass,
So speedily the sands of Time seem gone,
Sunken into a swirling, wild morass,
All efforts wrought with meaningful intent
Often performed at person’s grievous cost,
Appears to be vitality misspent,
Issuing in a sense of being lost;
With care, perceive the beat of Nature’s heart,
Which panders not to every fleeting whim,
Nor frets at whatsoever might depart,
But hums her pre-ordained consistent hymn;
Serenity descends on those who wait,
She nourishes profound contented state.
©Meanderings 2016
Autumn Ambles 