Like a sudden chill that runs down
The ridge of my back, the morning
Has come again to offer anew, the taste
That satisfies my poetic thirst.
I hear the waterfall rushing down
The gorge invisible, yet not far away.
So too the songbirds, their voices
Ring out in sweetest harmony.
Like church bells, the music ushers
In hymns and awakens the communion
Of the forest. And the old Priest, is he
Looking down from a distance?
Fleet footed deer, soulful eyed, arrive
Up from the nearby Blue Ridge.
Nibbling on the buds, they greedily
Partake of my garden’s sacrifice.
In the distance stands the Humpback, and as
The sun rises and offers its sweetest wine
My lover and I make confession, and drink
In the blessings, of a place called Wintergreen.