A chime of the calm winds
The Bee floats avast the spring bed
Trees of life dance the aged monolith dance of those before them
Tipped Mountains, vigil of the Aeons,
Watchful of the thousand seasons

The lake pools from and to the millennia
Vastness of the stoic forest dew covered morn
Rolling across hills and plains

Young loves gait warmly across meadows and pasture new
Reciting poetry of the ages
As if of flow of Wordsworth’s own heart
A crisp noonday sun, ancient and loving
In it’s beauty and light

Setting yourself free to Gaia’s embrace
Demure of ourselves but hearts free
Grey skies shall never form again
To the rapturous beauty of a new life.

Ian V. Seymour ©2011

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