By
Bryan Sanctuary, June 27, 1972
Whenever I feel the coming of spring
With the running of sap in the trees,
The scent of the woods all dewy and damp,
And the song of the birds with the breeze.
I go about softly in search of a dell
That man’s changing hand cannot reach,
A place that’s all green with the sound of a stream,
And the comforting shade of a Beech.
When I have found a place such as this,
My thoughts slip away with the hours,
I lay myself down on the soft mossy ground,
And sleep with the fragrance of flowers.
