When the ghosts of hidden worries crowd your thinking
You yearn escape the spinning of the busy wheels of angst
Pause, create a silent arbour, hush, cease all brooding
Listen to the words, you gave your best.
Ponder a woodland garden, a hazel for wishing rods
There will be an ash tree, for the craft of working wood
A spade to dig in the clearing, turn gently the sod
Plant a crab apple sapling, gather mushrooms for food.
Dream of a moss filled hollow, stare at the blue lit sky
Shape the figures from the changeable cloud,
Press faintly against your eyelids, image a magic eye
Gaze at the light as it enters, amid the leaves of the bower.
Trance to the sounds of the forest, hear the murmur of the bee
Smell the rot of the leaf mould, hark a buzzing fly
This is your private harbour, a world of the mind that is ease
Harvest your inward riches, make it your partner ally.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem