The Illusion Of A Peaceful Lakefront, 8:15 a.m.: Revolutionary ImproVerse Free Verse Poem

Birds chirp/warble/call/sing,
greeting the early morning sun.

Waves lap
or crash
or gurgle
on the rocky shoreline,
their symphony
depending on the weather.
Leaves rustle.

I strain
to hear
the buzz of bees
and bugs
and hummingbirds
pollinating.

The serenity
of lakeside living
is an illusion.

All those nature sounds
we should hear
are too often overrun
by the cacophonic crashing
of choking chords
from lawn mowers
and weed whackers
and generators
and compressors
and leaf blowers
and pressure washers.