Cloud watching
amid'st a child's spring,
where the hills rise high
and carrions swoop low.
What would be the magic
that the season mother brings?

Twiddling branches wash in breeze,
twinkling twilight bounding across infinite seas!

Gaia is a spirit and lush are her grounds!
Mother earth and father sky whisper and speak profound.

The naked winds are washing me with ecstasy of spirit.