'Twould nescient be, for one so blessed,
to then, leave praises unexpressed...
to tread these paths, with listening eyes,
ignoring woodland lullabies.
So hence, at yonder brook, I'll rest,
a poem about this walk, my quest...
and with economy of words,
I'll speak to thee, of trees and
birds.
But how can poetry be terse,
with thoughts, fragmented into verse...
Might I be negligent, and find,
I've left true essences behind?
Ah, well, 'tis merely but a poem,
I shall endeavor, with aplomb...
and bring thee far and wide, with me,
this verdant wonderland to see.
I shall not run... but walk shall I,
through God's impassioned forest nigh...
collecting, with my passing strides,
that bounty, doth the wood provides.
