Counting the tiny dew drops swinging,
With golden glow, on pine needles
After the lazy Sun wakes up, late,
Still hiding behind the misty hills
Over the meadows, wet; they shake dry-
To be green and bright, in the warm shine.
Peace comes from true beauty
Beauty much fresh and pure
Untouched by man and his cravings.
Tamper with the pure beauty of the world
soon peace on earth scatters like a dew drop.
numbers exist to keep records
of things lost, things lost for ever
beautiful things that will never return
like songs of birds unseen, gurgling streams
meandering through forests no more.
Unstinted beauty they hold, for heart and soul
Peace no more can find a way to them
Their memories live on, holding dear-
the memories of peaceful times bygone.
