Wildwood

We bob along the wildwood
like acorns on a colorless stream,
moving without want or will,
powerless as in a dream.

I taste the pine, I hear the rhyme
of the cicada and the bumblebee.
You and I float on the trail,
unconstrained, for now — free.

© 2016 Stellular Scribe

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2 thoughts on “Wildwood

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