Note: This doesn't have a title. We had to write little journal entries at TIP camp about whatever we wanted. This was my only one I wrote as a poem, and it's just observations of the place (Beaufort, NC.)
There is a breeze
And the earth is alive.
The mottled leaves
Yearning to strive.
The ends of flowers
Fruits have begun.
Timeless hours
Distant birds have sung.
This flow'ry bush
Wants to be free.
It feels the wind's rush
Through the leaves of this tree.
The trees are hungry
For sun and warmth.
Almost angry
As if a storm.
And as I watch
A butterfly goes by.
A twinkle, such,
In some distant eye.