I sit, afar all.
The roaring sun dips
below the tree-line.
A silence overtakes me
and at once I am
transported, magestically,
through the nodes of Spring.
It's fast, all at once.
A strange ripple springs from
the pond's shore (a frog, I think)
and I return to to my seat.
Whoever says "God is dead"
ought to see the trees awake
from the cold-dead. See it as
a
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