the magic whispers
its way through the ferns,
tenaciously sparkles
through the moss
on the old, old maples,
carves itself into the sandstone
rock faces,
ripples in island time
through the waves and clouds,
and dances with the frogs
in the late spring moon.
it is wild.
it is free.
it is here.
as are we.
the mystic whisper
meanders through ferns,
tenaciously sparkles
past moss on old maples,
carves sandstone
rock faces,
ripples island time
waves and clouds,
dances with frogs
late spring moon.
wild
free
we.