I think maybe the path
and the trees and the leaves
know me better than man.
They have no business to worry
no advertising save pollen
set free in spring's breeze.
I do not compete here
in this cacophony of woods.
The brook and stone
and moss covered floor
let me take of their green
and ivy'd shores
even as I bleed for them
and share my warmth.
There is no contract writ
between our beating hearts,
only the great pulse
of the world
to rule our breath.
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