You wonder how these things begin
Well, this begins with a glen
It begins with a season, which,
For want of a better word,
We might as well call: September
It begins with a forest,
Where the woodchucks woo,
And leaves wax green,
And vines entwine like lovers.
Try to see it, not with your eyes
for they are wise.
But see it with your ears:
The cool green breathing of the leaves
And hear it with the inside of your hand
The soundless sound of shadows flicking light
Recall that secret place,
You've been there, you remember,
That special place where once,
Just once, in your crowded sunlit lifetime
You hid away in shadows from the tyranny of time.
That spot beside the clover,
Where someone's hand held your hand,
Where love was sweeter than the berries
Or the honey
Or the stinging taste of mint.
It was September, before a rain fall
A perfect time to be in love.
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