Every time I tire of life,
Solace is found in woods.
Canopies shade my fears
Trickling crystal waters
Alleviate my cares.
Minerals run wild despite
Ancient cold inertia
Restoration once more
Imbues my weary bones.
This year, though, I stumbled
Upon a precious thing,
Which, as it stands today,
Offers no subtle hint
Of what should be and what
Should be left undisturbed.
A floral cherry nest,
That, wide enough to sleep
Waking Titania
And low enough to hide
A dozen timeless imps,
Stands proud, renewed, refound.
Do I leave it there in-
Tact, or do I dare touch
The fragile white blossom
Clinging to the branches,
Like bats in stormy nights?
I peer inside and see
A sleeping queen woven
Into the knowing bark.
Footmen, fairy princes,
Sing a verse from my youth:
‘For love awake or love asleep
Ends in a laugh, a dream, a kiss,
A song like this.’
I freeze inert, in awe,
Aghast that I might fright
This chance apparition.
Suspended like the Sibyl
She stirs not for me.
But I , as old as watch-
Ful man walked by that day,
And never saw again
Your eyes, your face, your skin,
Such grace, beauty, mystery,
As that lost silvan djinn.
