The soft breeze whispers against my skin,

Telling me secrets that I couldn’t dare share.

The flowers dance beautifully and happily,

Unaware of the children’s trampling feet.

The trees stand with tall, straight postures,

Watching over the city with an observant gaze.

The grass is often forgotten yet it knows it’s value,

For from it sprout the seeds of new life.

The dirt is lifeless, its gravelly skin brushed away,

Yet without it there is no flowers or trees or grass.

The insects live peacefully in their deep burrows,

Only disrupted by the too-early rise of the sun.

And then there’s us: the people.

We are born from the dirt, and rise from the grass.

We are the caregivers of the trees and the flowers and the insects.

Far too often, our intelligence is abused,

And we hurt our nature.

But there are good people, ones who care, ones who listen.

People who will whisper with the wind, dance with the flowers, and stand with the trees. They will know their worth like the grass, and never forget the importance of the dirt.

Lets be the whisperer, the dancer, and the person who stands.

Let’s be the people who know our worth, and know the worth of others.

Let’s never forget the importance of people often forgotten, the people who are brushed away by those who think they’re superior.

Let’s be the feelings of nature.