Time treads downward tick-ticking;
Upward he walks to the woodland,
To hermits’ “Evergreen” bookstore,
To observe, to feel, and to be with.
Dreamy murmuring streams hum;
And mystic tip-toeing spirits hiss him;
Soothe the sweeping, balmy breezes;
And plays in his swelling heart peace.
Nuts dive in honey on his leafy plate;
Pages flip through on his rocky bed,
Owls anoint with lullabies his ears;
And time, through his grip, slips him.
Copyright © Feb. 23, 2021, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay