The lily pads are soft, green emerald eyes,
That look into my soul and the untold.
Here, reason is treason and logic – lies.
The gray crowds of trees make me rather cold.
While deer watch, wait, and whisper secret deals.
Silence is ambush, but nighttime is death.
I cannot wait, but I have feet – not wheels.
The wind pounds me hard – I can’t catch my breath
Truly, I know I cannot get away
From this evil world of fear and scheming.
But for what sin do I presently pay?
All I want is to be at peace – dreaming.
Perhaps those bush berries were nightingale,
In which case, this is the end of my trail.