Come lay with...me and play...with me the forest said...dream with me...to be with me...that I may...teach you...of the way's...of nature...for I am the tree...I am the sky...I am the brook...and I am grasses...that your body lay...where mosses softly...cradle thee that...thou may rest...a rest of angels...all protecting thee...
Come listen boy...the cry of aerie...harbored eagle...high above near sky...the brown mole...down in ground...yet blindly...find his way...the wild ewe...her ram o'er shadowing...her back...their rutting song...of earthly joy...the wren her...busy nest...the cat bird fain...would'st steal away...into my forest come...a'now dear boy...
And as we age...the forest...you and I...we listen for...those melodies...the forest play...in every note...a new design...all secretly enlace'd...and layered...in a web...of fine connecting...lives and lines...of bird and...bear song wind...and water rippling's...of space and time...and you...young boy will be...a learned fellow...of this sorcery...
And now we stand...this cup in troth...of spring'd water...cold as any...night in mountain...suck and... we shall sup...round campfire bright...arranged of stars...for table light...as dagger'd as...a winter's fangs...of 'cicles...yey I keep... thee close and...round about thee...warm as if...the forest...were in love...with thee indeed...thou son...indeed it were...will always be...
And this the way...of wild and men...and young men ever...knew this way...to be far better...than that soft...that cloying style...that steal...man's soul anon...is there a'naught...the wizard miss...for there his rare...apprentice lay...bare nakedly asleep...more trusting of...more pure and sweet...than any fair...and tender maiden...
It is now...the hour of dream...the time of sheep...dim distant bleating...in the night...to Pan there opening...his oaken door...and smiling gods...of pastures green...of forests verdure crowned...of supple children...playing in the light...as thou dare witness...majesty of faun...observed by thee...thou star crowned child...thou young man...rising with delight...
In manhood whole...young twig...no longer twig...thou pole blown...softly of the wind...young finger's dream'ly...wrap round...pull and play...thy Pan pipe... fairly free...thy proud and rigid... tree sway...ready to display...that rain of nature...that a young man spray...upon the flow'r...of every field...upon the meadow...
In the sky...upon the belly...of the world...that sigh is heard...preceding joy...that ever tones...release of that...white milky way...tis life...thou young man...wet with vision...of a pasture'd place...his own quiescent...now thou gentle os...lay down upon...thy little nest of hay...to thank and pray...and rest the forest...on it's nightly way...
Written by Bruce James Clyde 2015
Art: Reclining Pan c. 1535, attributed to Francisco de Sangallo, Photo by Preston
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