Each One (for its Own Sake)

In the flutter of an eyelash
seasons change faces.
When the flutter of a sash
awaits clouds a few paces
away - The last summer
day draws to  a close.

New showers, fresh rain
green fields sowed with grain.
The black, grey and white
make the yellowy-blue hide.
The falcons, and the kites
to behold, such a sight!

In their oblivious grandeur
they churn up the thunder;
Charging heavens to roar
making fields pray for more
(a river breaks bank, wondering,
If it may feast on human flesh).

To let not the river feast, on
humans like the Minotaur beast
(to slow the spill),
the flood gates are opened.
A score, or a little more
(humans later), it is placid.

Droplets of water, droplets of salt (like)
froglets in water, froglets on land.
Each one by themselves,
for themselves, and
for their own sake.