The majesty of mountain peaks, the grandeur of the trees,
The thunder of the breaking waves in wild, unfettered seas.
The roiling storm clouds overhead in ever changing guise,
So ominous, yet beautiful in dark, forbidding skies!

When Nature wields her sculpting tools she fashions such as these;
So far beyond the art of man yet molded with such ease!
Her tools? The burning summer sun, the beat of wind and rain,
The ceaseless pounding of the surf which nothing can restrain.

But nature has a lighter touch when summer zephyrs blow,
For now she fashions feather clouds, adorned with sunset's glow.
Those gentler breezes shape the clouds in panoplies of lace,
Vast filigrees which hand of man has never matched in grace.

And nature's art is not confined to splendor or to size.
No need has she of majesty to dazzle mankind's eyes,
For she can take a water drop and fashion it to show
The awesome symmetry portrayed in tiny flakes of snow.

"The Sculptor Extraordinaire" is Nature's rightful name
And to the myriad works she's done who can, but she, lay claim?
But we can browse unendingly, enjoying Nature's art
Engrossed with all the wonder that such beauty can impart!

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