by Nathan Hays
I come again to the sylvan glade that
Latent sense awakens
From aerie perch and rooted self
Unfolds my fiat
Effortless gestures enrich my vision
Commanding life
I draw returning breezes to refresh and fulfill
Misting my face
I leap into buoyant aerosols to glide
Among the dryads
Fairy moths and parasols fervently coruscate
About my arms
I descend to a cool shade along a stream
To lay upon the moss where
Whispering gurgles and pixie dances
Lull me to sleep.
A tiny hand upon my cheek stirs me,
My child is watching over.
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