Some fairies gamboling in the wood are heard to speak about a lack of hazels this year and much too many beech and brier. Bring some sycamore, some vine, I heard one say. They must be building rafts to sail the autumn rapids out of here. Some lilies have come back despite another early winter. They struggle from behind a row of meditations not yet said aloud.
Sentimentalists still ask but no new sentiment is given.
Who knew that light and dark were always one, that milky way and sol's ray had a touch alike. When I went crawling through your arms back into mine I should have realized that streams run dry or break. No new lineament to heal old wounds. All rights reserved and no part may be reproduced in any form without written permission of owners.