14 August 2012
She sips sweet soothing sap with moss and swallows symbolic dappled dew.
She dreamily drifts through diaphanous wafts and patiently waits for just you.
Panthers are gliding in gloaming glades.
While weary wrens bask on there backs.
Reality fades.
And dappling shades delve deeply in feathery sacks.
You follow her trail of lacy leaves for one thousand carpet rides
You will see the licorice key
Where the humble-bee always hides.
At last you will see
Her lover oak tree
Downward droop his bough at Dawn
To caressingly cradle her exquisite form!
The Dryad • Opuss № I