The wooded hills beckon in the evening sunfall
The bare brown carpet invites spring
invites me to come up and commune
with the strength of the oaks and the
delicate beauty of the birch child
Amethyst clouds light the ridge above
and elvish whispers stir the leaves to a hesitant dance
The woods are not awake yet
But their clear blood begins to rise
in the warmth of lengthening days
They give to us a taste of the first sweetness of spring
Pouring their joy out from wounds
Drink from the promise of hope
and let your tongue sing our song
Shadows of geese sail though the sundogs
which circle their master three times before
sinking to the horizon's bed
The woods will sleep another night
~lg
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