Come Alive
The wind speaks,
In whispers low,
Amongst the leaves,
That tremble so,
And near the oak,
That proudly stands,
To welcome all,
With cordial hands,
To the garden;
Where ivy crawls,
Down the elms,
In waterfalls.
And to the meadow;
Where melodious fruit,
Sway along,
To the shepherds flute;
Whose golden wind,
Will never die,
For with its breath,
All comes alive...
Copyright © Ph.D Volo Von Wolfenstein | Year Posted 2011
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