Angels composing symphonies
eternally scribbling melodies
on wings feathered yet unfettered.
Transposing music of celestial spheres
For our lowly earthen ears
sullied, muddied and weathered.
Our dirty toes will never run so deep
where warm tree roots gently sleep
undisturbed and growing more numb.
For man is a mix of blood and soil,
who dances through his terrestrial toil
So long as there’s a song to hum.
I set out at the thaw of Dawn
when I heard the Angel Song.
The grass still graced with morning dew.
Strolling through trails from which we spring
I can hear an entire forest sing.
Every day it plays the song anew.
The woods & winds commune
As twigs, trees & berries tune
and I sit on a trail seldom trodden.
The tones of cones & stones pound,
arboreal acoustics resound
harmonies we have long forgotten.
Wood & wind celebrate
as trembling needles resonate.
This angelic symphony tosses and turns.
Wander and ponder eating berries
That you might hear these melodies
Finely filtered through the ferns.
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