Where rooty denizens dwell and dine,
In the Earth beneath the grass and fruiting vines,
Surely there is an intelligence,
Giving rise to the elegance
Behind their design;

As fine flowers flowing,
Sowing seeds in the breeze that is blowing,
Bestow their sowing nature
Into the soil where all things are growing,

And striving towards the light,
Are many seed-bearing trees,
The terrestial messengers,
Through which entire worlds will weave;

And to receive their remedy,
With every breath and glance,
Is to embrace the melody of the intelligence,
That owes nothing at all to chance;

For to receive the simple relief
Of a single dimpled leaf,

Is to know an appreciation for creation,

Beyond melancholy or any heaving grief;

And the seasonal sheathe,
That comes to cover the world in green,
Is gleaming and resplendant,
In the rays of the Sun's gilded sheen;

The rosehips hooray,
At the splendid spontaneous display,
Growing ever greener in the beaming
Of the Sun's profound and expounding ways;

And this melodious play,
As spritely as folktales of the Fae,
Is ever all around us,
Each and every waking day;

It is an exceptional collection of forms surviving,
An enlivening multiplicity in its natural thriving,
As honeyed as a hive where bees are dipping and diving
Throughout the air where fair fragrances are continuously arising;

A giving and receiving
Within the living perceiving,
It is a bountiful blooming, beyond assuming,
Speculating, or believing;

It presents itself freely,

In petals and buds uncurling,

To the delight of perceiving sight,

Seeing the Springtide in its unfurling;