Songs of ourselves

What beauty this Earth holds,
If only you took time to behold;
The Sahara with its relentless heat covers one part,
Tempest blizzard laden poles the other,
What beauty it is, to exist together.
Lush, fecund rainforests,
Home to the pygmy and the tapir,
All clandestine.
The dappled trees are impenetrable,
Guarding the we breathe,
What beauty it is, to be sheathed.
It also holds the crampons of life,
Conquering the space between the earth and the skies.
Here, even the gentlest of sounds becomes prominent,
The mountains from afar or near, become dominant.
On this earth, the waters gush incessantly, freely, with power,
The smashing and stampeding creates secluded spumes giving it its own serenity,
Some move swiftly, stealing anything in its path like tentacles spiralling out into abysmal nothing,
It lives with maddening hunger.
Some who live here feed on what it grows,
Some who live here feed on the life it holds.
What it provides, never ends
For even a mere fruit it bears has a seed to lend
Where some creatures have the power to break open through cocoons,
And some to retrieve in their shells,
All but singing,
The songs of ourselves.