Cotton floating on the breeze,
falling gently in the air;
against the green of giant trees,
in skies so blue and bare.
No clouds to spoil the view,
just contrails passing by;
on a morn that's fresh and new,
with scenes that make you sigh.
Like snowflakes sown in May,
they flutter to the ground;
the leaves, in splendor, sway,
yet they make no sound.
The spores are fluffy...white,
they dance within the wind;
it's a spring time magic sight,
around each pathway's bend.
Walks like these, you treasure,
in the mind and in the soul;
the type we cannot measure,
but ones that make us whole.