Our world is always changing, Constantly re-arranging. From ocean depths to mountain peaks, Mother Nature moves and speaks. While telling stories of our past She tries to teach us how to last. Mankind, so smart, sometimes blind Leaves common sense far behind. We're moving fast and living large, Forgetting she's the one in charge. Amazed when she rings our bell, Sending us through living hell. She can twist our steel, shake any city, If her wrath you feel, we shall pity. Yet some who speak on her behalf, I fear just seek the golden calf. It's true, we must treat her right. Or we will incur a deadly plight. Treat her with distinction Or surely face extinction!
I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth --
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches' broth --
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.
What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?--
If design govern in a thing so small.