Whilst they grasp at Summer,
one by one we let the seasons go.
Lightning piercing a distant hill,
stormy skies here stir a wonder.
Roaring winds coming to a still,
stood in silence after thunder.
Seldom are not sorrows, nor are we sedentary creatures. No surprise dreams go in search of singing songbirds.
Give me dark, dark woods;
hiding valleys deep, mountains steep.
For the flowers at my door.