The deep woods that linger on the mountain hill
With open palms that beckon and hold
As I move across its glades of gold and jade
As the hidden bridge squeaks beneath my weight
The pines beginning to close in on the space
That was the path, crumbling into mossy lace

In that moment, it was barely visible
The red steeple of the city temple
Peeking gently through the canopy of leaves
But as the wind blew and the woodlands breathed
And the fairies of the river bank sang
The warm hand against my back began to lead me away