I still dream of my return.
Spurned to an elongated term
It came to be
Enchanted to a fortress
A dram of great free.

Muddied wooden smells
Smolder in vitality
Of trees unaware of
Their own mortality
As they stood
A Monument of Ancients
Eager to counsel or
Consol as
Weeping woods,mourning
The infrequency of it
All as I did too.

Hunched over in strain
A hollow oak rowed with us
And hurled us on ,grateful,
Scratching implants in
Forgery of bonds as an elder who served
Old and Faithful

As sounds stood still
Honey sweetened
Sensations struck the air
To rear from their slumber
The alive mountains
Revived from hibernation-
Satiations felt full from
Sweeten honey-combed
Trees,their saps refilled
To distill my mind
To find these are where my
Happinesses lie.