Therefore let me know trust in the feelings of my heart.
My hope is in what the hand of man has never touched.
Do not let me trust what I can grasp between my fingers.
Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude.
Young grass
high and thick
drenched
filled to brim,
by morning sun released,
a fury of green, trees
believing that golden day
will stay.
Persist, oh life,
in the cold of winter,
and beat, oh heart!
With tender heat
as a while yet
I breathe!
(6 April 2012
rev April 2019)
poems 
nature description could be magical in view,.