Down the winding lane I walk
hid by hedge and under bough
that skirl their leafy sounds anyhow
in the seeking winds of May.
Going nowhere with a purpose
talking secrets with my feet
marching to the cyclic beat
of natural worlds at play.
Pausing at the path smooth head
over which the white clouds scud
stopping, watching cows chew cud
hear the dark horse neigh.
Ambition-less, I am asexual
just conscious of my nose
down I go where the river flows
to greet the end of day.
Not wanting less than everything
I sit rod-less on its banks
eyeing the silver fishes’ shanks
oblivious of time.
Then Diana overshadowing
Bow in hand, fey and feminine
makes mine eyes to inward shine
and dispelling feet of clay…
I ride the seeking winds of May.
