Again and again

Flitting from a lily to a hyacinth,
The merry bees sing,
Their ballad reaching its crescendo,
On a ukulele’s fragile string.

The wind smiling broadly,
Fresh and full of vigour,
I entrust my heavy heart to it,
Feeling it bruise my melancholy with rigour!

On a fresh tomed sunflower bed,
A thousand suns turn,
And share their worship.
With the one who burns.

I often ask myself,
‘Why do you only seek nature out when you are in pain?’
But the answer lies true,
For I am a human,
And I cannot help but make mistakes.
Again, and again.