Can't you see that half a dozen ways
Of droplets catch upon the silent face
Of waters like a million pieces of
The song of sparrows and the flight of doves?
Spiders crawl up broken trunks
Rivers, half and half drunk
With rainbows from the springtime storms
And autumns, winters, summers yet to come.
Meadows, glens, and valleys lose you yet
Does still remain in pools wet
With froth appearing on their rising throats
And foam a thousand crystals on their coats.
This is the one true way to imagine trees
The single, only place of butterflies and bees
Yet, so often don't you forget this road
And wander off, to those you never should?