In nature the season is the thing,
making all us animals react,
and too our baser thought we sing
in our acncient seasonal contract,

to fresh coats and claws now hunt.
on talon, wing, tooth and claw,
time to eat and kills, to be blunt,
that is old earths first law.

it is to the golden father sun,
and to star silver sister moon,
to Gaia's beauty the tale is spun,
and all her voices humm the tune.

when the fecund gods scream "celebrate",
as to the rituals of matings assails,
to the columns the gods whisper fornicate,
to the chorus of animals wails,

the ocean roars and trees entice,
in turbluent blues and sordid green,
to the ancient gods we sacrifice,
though lusty nature seeming serene.