in
                                            shaded
                                                     copse & bluebell          
                                                 bower, hot scents of        
                                        wild garlic give way to a
                                             mist of forget me nots. Let      
                                              those sweet fragrances mix,      
                                       as cooled air glistens on soft
                                       green; Breathe deep, the
                                               earth, as it's wiped           
                                                        ­        from your                           
                                      twisting
                                                    back        ­            
                              &
                              you  
                                                  beg                        
                           your 
                                                          ­    ghosts                                    
                           for release
                          "Do you feel it?"
                       ~where the bud grows free*~