From the Heart

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The Darkest Place
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Screaming Sirens
Screamin' Sirens
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Crackling Leaves
Young Soldier
I do not have a voice

Crackling Leaves

 

Crackling leaves lie underfoot as I stroll through the mass of trees.

The wind caresses my skin, cools the air with each soft and gentle blow.

Airing its song, the whistling song thrush sweeps past me like a breeze.

What treasures will behold my eyes I really do not know.

 

Bobbing around the giant carpet will I see a Jenny Wren,

Or will it be a little fawn not yet to its feet?

Perhaps a fox and its playful young looking for their den

Or even a fluffy rabbit, looking oh so sweet.

 

But not a single creature do I spy, in this hinterland.

It is a place of beauty, a place of mystery and awe.

A place untouched, fresh, unspoilt, by machine or human hand,

Where large and smallest beings can roam, free, wild, and sure.

 

Though I do not chance upon its wealth,

Their precious place quiet and lonely lies.

Its own treasures this place keeps for its self,

Does not reveal to my eyes.

 

But I do not worry why ‘tis oh, so quiet,  for, perhaps

next time I’ll chance upon a sight not seen before.

Maybe ‘twill be I who spies a darling little nuthatch,

Or even the lovely peacock with its tail feathers that I adore.

 

Who cares, for now, I’ll be contented with the tranquillity of this location.

For I am not the only person to find this wondrous place.

So, I will leave it, only for now and go find my true vocation.

Now I have been inspired by such beauty and such grace.