Under the shade of a sychamore tree,
on the edge of a pond sat a he and she.
both who were living with a burdening fee
for the she could not hear, and the he could not see.
and he sat there in the shade of the leaves,
listening to the rustle of the wind through the reeds,
till he heard a voice travelling in the breeze.
singing him tales of worlds overseas.
she painted him visions so clear he could feel.
her words flowed so gently as they tried to reveal
the movement of joy on ripe barley fields
and treasure of old the sea tries to conceal.
on the opposite shore, by a moss covered stone
sat a she who sangs songs to the wind and the gnomes
she dangled her feet into the water below
and read the love ripples from his skimming stones.