Trap a butterfly In the wood. It would fly away, If it could. It too longs to Spread its wings, Hearing what the Season sings. It fades into The sky above. Learn what it can Say of love. Where’s it going? Why was it made? Will its colors Ever fade?

Let’s sit in the Wood for hours. All our tasks at home can wait. I’ll point out the pretty flowers, While you talk to me of fate. My struggle, I must confess, Is living life to a strict law: Checking tasks off of a list, Seeking a day without flaw. The real flaw is to…

Let not your heart be parted To be placed in strangers’ hands, Because hearts are fragile; They will break in loveless lands. You’ll find out who loves you When your heart they do not steal. Seeing you become so frail, They will help you heal. If one day your heart insists On care from someone…

An old clock ticks; It’s half-past one. Above, a Star Sees everyone. The broken souls On streets below Have found no cure, No place to go. The old clock has Not known a night When Star has turned Away her sight. Stirred by pity At human fright, She breaks the fog To shine her light.

Great love helps a plant grow strong. Her children can withstand the storms Of life when tears become the song And there is much to mourn. Great love gives fire to a hearth When winter nights are long and bleak. She’s nurturing the growing earth, Comforting the weak. Great love—she’s an ocean wide, The deepest…

Evening’s colder. The crickets are crying. October nears, and The forest is dying. Birds in their companies Far-away flying; Trees shedding foliage— Their forest is dying. I’m in a fog, and My spirit is sighing. Where can I go where My wood isn’t dying? Shadows are stretching; Perhaps I was lying. Here I will stay,…

I wear flowers in my hair, Even when they’re not in bloom. Vining plants are everywhere, Winding ‘round my room. God made four seasons to be; He is wise and he is fair. Still, I look around and see The Green is ever there. Let me dream that things can stay, Even after a farewell.…

Soft, persistent Autumn air, Bringing in the Winter fair. There is much I must forget, But the year’s Not over yet. Cool and smelling Of a hearth. Copper foliage On the earth. Fill my lungs And soothe my soul; Snow will come And find me whole.

She’ll pass through the wood In her midnight-blue gown. Always she visits The sleepy old town. Many have seen her But none know her name. She does not speak to them; It’s all the same. Folk say her weeping Brings trees from the ground, Tears like a river— O! mournful, the sound. A lad claimed…