In the Wood
faces in green leaves
on twigs and branches
dance in the breeze
of spring's gentle gaze.
visitors bring joy there
to the voices of the air
as the sun's eye begins to blaze
(with envy)
the north hills undulating
rolling tides of petals and
pollen-filled dreams
burst asunder notions
of brewing bumblebee potions
dancing every night
with fears unnerving sight
and the sound of the wood nymph
making mischief at old man's house of leaves.
follow your heart to bubbling creeks
flowing crystal clear
and
guiltless treasures
leave no memories in the wood.
no lasting memory
is left standing in the wood.
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