She stands at the top of a celestial zenith,
A terrestrial dais from which to survey.
On top of her head seats a magnificent wreath,
A chaplet concealing her hair now turned gray.
Who is this lady who stands at the apex?
Gazing, perceiving, observing our sphere?
Who stares out to sea, past far snow-capped mountains,
Oer rivers and lakes, this world’s brigadier?
At her command race rivulets in runnels,
By rivers and lakes, their caves and their tunnels.
Her bluebirds, her robins she loves their embellish,
A turn of her hand cause lives here to flourish.
Now time for her sunset, its journey below,
Her moon and her stars are waiting to go.
This lady, this mother, is one we all know.
Mother Nature in her somewhere really puts on a show.