I would like to walk under the sun, and in the shade where it is cooler,
where the woodland floor isn't all dry leaf anymore,
just purple and blue, waving a little, like a great sea.
To drag my pale white hand in the waters, to bring it out cold and soft as a feather,
and hear a blackbird and a thrush pass the time of day.
To turn down the road and wade into the creek, instead of walking on by,
To look upon the green green face of spring.