These hallowed woods have paths that bend
through aspen, oak and red pine trees.
The mystic seekers can here transcend
the weight of daily life and wend
a spirit path that sets them free.
They leave the road, walk past the pond,
around the fragrant herb and flower patch,
into the birches, and then beyond
the heavy green of bracken frond
and find a meaning in the thatch.
They come, they walk or sit, then go.
And when they leave, they love this place,
this humble wood where spirits grow.
The changes they are feeling show
in how their faces shine with grace.
Not yesterday I learned to love
the root, the stem, the trunk, the limbs
the dirt below and sky above,
the scream of hawks, the coo of doves,
and to hear the meaning of their hymns.