I recently saw these two poems which inspired me.

First is a summer reflection for those in the So. Hemisphere:

i thank you God for most this amazing by E. E. Cummings

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

And for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, here is a poem written by Barbara Crooker.  She has a webpage whereupon she shares a poem each month.  This is her reflection for February:

CATALOG   by Barbara Crooker

It's February, and we're freezing, despite global
climate change,despite the melting ice caps.
It seems that winter comes later now,
that the seasons are askew. But here,
in the pages of my L. L. Bean Catalog,
a fire is blazing brightly, natural resin
fatwood sticks bringing it to life,
and a mallard blue hearth rug
protects my floors. Warmth is guaranteed,
no matter what the winter brings: a blizzard
of bad news from the television, the icy rain
of losses--age chipping away at the body,
a flurry of Christmas cards where sorrow
tipped the scale away from joy. The radio
hisses its static: another car bomb explodes
in Iraq like the rat-tat-tat of sleet;
predictable as a cold front marching
down from Canada. But in these glossy pages,
we are told that when you select your
outerwear, you should consider your personal
response to cold, your activity levels,
local weather conditions. Locally, I'd say
the weather is conservative, with a touch
of paranoia. Our ears, whether covered
by a Mountain Guide Hat in Moss Khaki
or a Stone Blue Fleece Headband,
seem closed to the larger world, deaf
to the voices of want and need. We give
what we can, but not so much it hurts.
Somewhere in the city, a man sleeps
in a cardboard box. A woman and a child
huddle under a blanket on a subway grate.
We pass by quickly, wrapped in goose down
and Gore-Tex. The wind keeps
on blowing, as it always will.