The forest is
in theory and in practice
a holy
sanctuary for me
and for the cardinal
shining in his cave
and
for father robin
eating a worm
and for the first turtle
welcoming Spring
and for the beech tree
mourning Winter
and
for the warming stream
glowing like a stained glass window
The
forest is our palace of worship
where we bow in contemplation
and
sing rollicking, bawdy hymns of praise
and leave our offerings at
the mossy altars
of earth and sky
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