~Esther Mitchell, 1985~
A sprinkle of crystalline drops,
A gossamer robe hung to dry,
The whispered song of mother to young,
An echo of sweet lullaby;
The rustle of unseen footsteps,
Upon lush, color-strewn rugs,
And the tickle of bubbling laughter,
That wraps ‘round you like a hug;
Each wooded glade knows,
The sweet song of Morning’s mist,
As each pathway glows,
Touched by a Faery’s sweet kiss.
I wrote this poem what seems like a lifetime ago, now, as I sat in a tiny grove of trees, listening to the spirits of Nature all around me. In that morning light, I found feelings that forever linger, and made a friendship that’s followed me all the years since. I decided to share the thoughts I could only find words to put to paper in a poem, all those years ago.