To a Packmate

I grow weary of the masquerade

When I hear the beguiling serenade

Of the wind courting leaves in watchful trees

And my spirit is brimming with sacred peace.

Truth is in the vitality of life that surrounds us

Not the superficial glossy bright lies all around us.

The falling rain weaves the mist whose embrace

Enlivens my soul and bedews your face.

Like a blossom with petals of flame, ice and earth

You leave me spilling with music, magic and mirth.

We are the moon's minstrels, courtiers to the world,

A battalion of believers, banners newly unfurled,

We are jesters, we laugh to banish black sorrow,

We sit high in watchtowers and greet the sweet morrow.

The dawn may carry all life's magic

Or it may bring things dark and tragic.

I'm in love with the sky that has so much to say

My heart belongs to the trees, to the green and white bays

Of faraway seas in a world I have dreamed

Where truth and not lies are commonly seen.

Love is not held with falsehood in a close bond

And adventures come as often as ducks to a pond.

We could fly there together if we knew the way

With a map that we knew would not lead us astray.

Like wolves in a pack, we are akin

And with my hand in yours, shall our adventure begin.

(dedicated to my pack, and above all others, Henry.)