Nature Never Answers back

Someone tried to halt the raging river

And ask it to divert from hither

To-- and flow anew

Down this, its fresh laid avenue.

Someone spoke to the weary mountain

In language clear and plain

And asked it to lie down low flat

And smooth out its back, like a greasy rat

To allow feet from pain some refrain.

And some one spoke to the sky

In a tone sharp and wry

Asking for a blue scheme

And a sunny gleam

That might light up those trees

As a blinding aching vernal frieze.

I think they spoke, to the forest,

In a manner sombre and honest,

And asked it to shuffle so light,

In winds, as though a graceful kite,

When the air picked up, with a giddy glee

uprooting timber’s in a arboreal killing spree!

And all those pleas

To the mountain and the trees

Went without an answer,

Like a war horse without its lancer,

Dead prayers littered like autumnal leaves

As natures incessant might sighs and heaves!

They should have asked, but never bothered--

About the black woolly mass in the air that hovered

And for the rain to stop, after it had soothed and cooled

Before its rampant beat around ankles pooled!

But what use in asking questions of these forces

That sprung forth from such almighty sources!

Is it better not to wait for fairer times

Or march those feet to more pleasant climbs?