I often lose the sense of direction,
when I wander in the lush meadows of my remembrances
the nectar breeze I inhale
keeps my blocked throat moist
how sweet is the fragrance of the laughter
which keeps my puckers delighted
I am a forest child
resting my head on the strong woods
feeding on the feast of adoration and embraces
gaping in the reflection of a lamb
in the myrrh flowing around my feet
the tiny hurdles in the depth
glistening with the fungi smothering them
I smile and let tiny waves form ripples of hazy delight
I am a forest child
and this is where I belong
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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