Sit down beneath a shade
And feel the whispering of the trees
The singing of the wind:
Mother Nature plays her flute,
A soothing melody forgotten in time-
Gripping your memory, taking it back
Before poets wielded a quill
To jot down random thoughts...
Before one learned to sing.

Always remember the forest this way,
The object for haikus and lonely hearts-
It is tall, magnificent, home.

Only in the woods one may
Truly feel safe and heard,
Understood by the bugs and beasts.

A feeling not felt in ages
Settles over you like autumn leaves-
Mixture of love, angst, confession
It aches like pain, yet liberates,
Yet so welcome:

A different kind of peace
Not confining or due to boredom.
A different kind of peace
Falling upon you quietly...
Sympathetic,
For Mother Nature
Knows and comprehends you-
Thus, no words are necessary.