INDIAN WAY
Ann 4th April 2012.

Trees diagonally lit, a ladder up
The Indian Way, leading to the stone,
an altar for the squirrel's meal
spread out with pine cone bracts,
the wind whispers vespers in the breeze

a leaf from autumns dress floats down,
delivers silent prayer, the roots play music
with their sinewy fingers clasping
velvet cushions, moss,
offering their ever changing shades

a song sounds bell-like through this
idyllic scene, its stillness breaks,
its melody a hymn to heaven,
that brought the spring early, not late,
good cheer, good cheer, good cheer,
it is the great tit yellow, black and white
that sings his herald to the sun

this year of twelve two thousand and,
since Easter was proclaimed, a stop,
to work, to take the hand of those in need,
a moment in this life of toil to breath
the air of peace and quiet,
deep in the forest's track, where soft
the tread is blessed with happiness
and blue the sky with only clouds of white.