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A poem I wrote in 2014 asked to live with this Dryad
That I breathe
As I drive
Through the trees
Speak to me
Of green in my veins
Calling from days
When running free
In air so clean
Not even this place
A tangible trace
Of that which is lost
To those who
Drive too fast
The leafy blur
A speeding scene
Hold their breath
Lowering the glass
Breeze whipped hair
Feel the fresh sting
Dampness of earth
Washing the skin
Standing alone an oak solid and high,
Strong to the world of elements that change.
Ancient of leaf, silent whisper and sigh,
Sensing all life throughout each entire age.
Wands of branches touching with deep insight,
Future vision is seen with clarity.
Rowan sits high within the force of life,
Wood inspired protection held magically.
Watching the path reborn on buried time,
Yew waits at the end of the fading day.
Decaying roots grown through eons of lines,
Speaking words of long buried ancient ways.
If what was known, as Dryads’ silent spells,
The everlasting story nature tells.