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Pauline Tibbertsma

of

Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia

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Special Somewhere, Someone Special

by

Pauline Tibbertsma

I wake up in the morning, and everything I see
Is infused with so much colour that itís very dear to me
The picture painted by the dawn descends upon my view
Thereís nothing in this world that I would rather do
Than sit here at this special time upon the grass of day
And live and breathe each moment, thinking not of yesterday
For every day will visit only once, Iíve searched in vain
Every moment lives for just that time, then never lives again
As such it is so precious I donít want to close my eyes
I want to see the world, unlock its every small surprise
I want to know the secrets of the force that holds me here,
Of the mysteries of life that keep me bound to wander near.
I want to know its joys, and glory in the morning dew
I want to know especially how it made someone like you
So Iíll describe this place to you, and maybe when Iím done
Succumb to lifeís elixir enough to ponder on
The reason why a city with its smog and dust and flies
Can possibly remind me of the sanctity of life.

The beauty of a spider as it spins a golden web
Around a little flower with a honey-golden head
The crown of dew adorning the fringes of the grass
Even they hold lesser wonder than of seeing someone pass
Who doesnít even notice that what theyíre walking on
Is not a path, or pavement, but another form of lawn
With pebbled grass, albeit, (and a lot of it, Iíd say)
But still a form of nature as it wanders on its way
Speaking of such wandering, a stream flows round the bend
Oh true, it is a drain, you say, but look beyond, my friend
A tuft of moss, a little fish, some coloured boats, I find
What really is the difference between your view and mine?
A bird soars high upon the draft that whispers on the breeze
The wings with which it drifts so well cast shadows on the trees
Perhaps those shrubs are dead, they drip, tis if for death theyíre crying.
Itís seasonís change that colours leaves, and rain, not fear of dying
Those falling drops, I hear you say, are acid rain. How so?
For everywhere they drop there grows a flowery rainbow

The greatest part about it though, is not what is within it
But what this nature signifies to those whoíll only see it
Of human nature, many ponder on the depth of its deceit
For like the pessimists of nature such a view is at our feet
But this is half the beauty when you see the world my way.
In nature there is only truth. What else can it portray?
What is the other half of beauty? Iím very glad you asked.
The flowers aforementioned and the river flowing past,
The lawn and golden webbing, the bird over the tree,
All shine bright with two things that are very dear to me.
One of those is Jesus in the glory of each day
The other is of you, and every sentence that you say
You are the other half of beauty, the other half of me
The other part I view within the nature that I see

Some may mock at this romanticized creation of a world
Some may laugh as I portray for you the musings of a girl
They can jeer at feeble ramblings, at silly goings on.
But just remember I am laughing just as much as anyone.
Now Iíll go to bed. Iím yawing. Yet all I want to do,
Is stay up late, and stay up long, and spend the time with you.

So one day, when Iím up above, I can looked down to here
And view again my favourite spot, and see the sky so clear
And glory in the wonders of a land I called my own
And know that in my heart of hearts, Iíll never be alone.