Wild

Wild is me slipping into the running river,
WIld is leaping off the boat, the shore, away from my worries,
And onto something better,
To burst like a cannonball into the deep cold waters,
Wild takes a running start, doesn't look back,
Is confident in rightness does, does not second guess, or regret
Wild knows that winter is lonely, that each different snowflake
Must still fall to the ground,
That spring is spontaneous and unpredictable, open and larger than life,
Wild understands this, because Wild is Spring, too
The lilacs blossoming on the wilted branches, they are Wild,
The bees, busy workers, going about their own lives, on an errand for the Queen,
Still observe the life around them,
Still can feel afraid, and know when to sting
Some say that only people have feelings, but I know better,
The deer, with her young quick-stepping children, allows them to run
Yet stays close behind,
The lions fight fot the top, roar and stalk and lay deep down low in the grasses,
Sinking into the dark brown dirt
They are King, and nobody stops them, they hold power, take control of the jungle
Surrounding them, a monarchy that no one disturbs,
Even the wind with her smooth, gentle touch
Can be roused and join the thunder in its fitful storm,
The trees are old, but they have seen more than we have seen,
Their leaves still tremble and quake
Being Wild is feeling, is power, and understanding,
Wild is fear, in knowing when to be afraid, and when, like the bee,
To sting