We threaded slowly along a hidden path,
Under shadows, safe from Apollo’s wrath,
Guided only by the daisy chain,
Which lined the sides of this quiet lane.
The path led us to where the Ents gather,
The aged trees in a circle silently they chatter,
With trepidation we intruded the centurial meeting,
For we intended to do a little singing.
The stage was set with young emerald and aged amber,
Hints of life emerging from deaths of past November.
Shimmering lights stained green by jadeite shoots above,
Accompanied by the soft gentle cooings of the nesting turtle doves.
My Maiden first sang with much modesty,
I beckoned courage with a little soft harmony.
Unperturbed by our abrupt disturbance,
The swaying giants seemed to enjoy our performance.
Little by little with her heart emboldened,
My maiden sang, her inhibition abandoned.
Zephyr joined our merriment with a sighing bellow,
One by one the birds too followed.
The song of mermaids hung proudly in the air,
Its beauty matched only by my maiden’s fair.
Basked in such wonder that I dare not breathe,
Till her singing ceased in a thunder of applauding leaves.
where we use to go for some privacy