The hours and minutes mean nothing
Where tides relax in ebb and flow
Far out at sea the sailors go
With cosmic skies gently guiding
And time means naught on mountain tops
The peaks now lost in heavy clouds
So snow may kiss them in their shrouds
Vistas of chocolate box backdrops
Clocks have no command amid trees
Where mosses grow ‘neath forest green
A beauty is there to be seen
With song birds and the buzzing bees
For mother nature needs not time
The seasons of earth at her will
Ever moving and never still
Her ways of life touch the sublime
© JG Farmer 2017
Form: Redondilla
A Garret Poet 